


From the otherside

by Nayaneva



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Mystery, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nayaneva/pseuds/Nayaneva
Summary: An innocent game turns into life changing experience that shakes Ian's life upside down.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Original Male Character(s), Mickey Milkovich/Svetlana Milkovich
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	1. The seance

At first, when Lip had told him about his brilliant idea for getting quick cash, Ian had found it hilarious, but also interesting. A breath of the fresh air into their usual performances. 

'Remember, we don't steal from them. We're only offering them peace of mind.' Lip told him and clapped his back with encouraging smile. And Ian thought that yes, he was right. It wasn't like they were going to hurt anyone in the process, right? 

'What I don't understand is why it has to be me?' Ian asked with a frown, his eyes following his younger sister throwing around the room haphazardly deep purple and grey cloths which according to her were suppose to make the room look warmer and more homely. Ian thought it looked messy and repulsively, but decided to keep it for himself. 'Why not Debs? From what I watched spiritual mediums are usually women.' 

'I'm pregnant, and don't want my kid to get cursed if I'd mess up with some ghost.' She said with a pulled face, her hand protectively pressed to her belly. Lip snorted around the joint between his lips.

'You do realize we're not going to contact any ghosts right?' He asked her with an arched eyebrow. 'We're only pretending we are.' 

'You never know if accidentally you wouldn't evoke a spirit.' She countered back.

'Don't listen to her, Ian. It's just her hormones.' Lip said and threw himself on the couch, next to Ian. He passed him a joint and Ian took it gladly. He needed something to soothe his nerves. 'She knows shit about spiritual mediums.' 

'I know enough to stay away from it. You don't want to play with powers you don't understand.' She said firmly and looked critically at the mess she created in his room. 'We should put some candles on the shelves and I'd bring a table lamp. Fiona wouldn't notice it's missing.' 

'If you think it's not safe, why do you want me to take a risk?' Ian asked with a frown. 

'We need money to keep our house.' She replied with a shrug. 'And you're the only one who doesn't have anything to lose, so you can take a risk. You've been dealing with worse shit than that.' 

'Oh, great. Thanks, guys!' He snapped and threw hands in the air exasperatedly. Lip rolled his eyes and clasped a hand around his brother's shoulder so he could turn him toward him and look him in the eye.

'We chose you because you're a great actor, Ian. And there's no one else who could pull out a puppy eyes like you. They'll believe in anything you say.' 

'He's right. You're naïve and cute. They'd love you.' Debbie added. 

'Love you too, Debs.' Ian replied sarcastically and flipped her a bird. 

'It's going to be fun.' His brother assured him with a knowing smirk. 'You don't even have to worry 

about potential clients, I already took care of it.'

'You've planned this long before you shared your idea with me.' Ian accused, as everything clicked into the place. 'You assumed I'd agree.' 

'And I assumed good, right?' Lip could tell Ian was close to pulling a tantrum, so he quickly adds. 'It's only a few students from my college. Nothing serious. They're just curious about the whole thing. How it works, you know.' He shrugged. 

'And you think they'd pay for it?' He asked doubtfully. 'There are better things to do for fun.' 

'After a few joints and a couple of drinks?' Lip smirked. 'We're starting tomorrow night.' Ian sighed heavily and leaned back into the couch.

'I'm not going to wear any tulles.' He muttered in a resigned voice, his eyes traveled to the ceiling. 

'Done.' Lip gave him a winning smile and clapped him on the knee before moved from the couch and grabbed his backpack. 'I brought you a few more DVD's to watch.'

**

Debbie came around his place two hours before the  _ event –  _ as Ian preferred to call it – starts, with a table lamp, tucked under her armpit and a bag full of candles and other meaningless things that she insisted Ian needed. Knowing there's no point to argue with her – he was in the lost position anyway – he had left her to her own devices, while he went to his bedroom to change clothes for something more casual. Before he made his way back to the living room, he smoked a joint he got from Lip, and quickly ventilated the room before Debbie could smell it and start bitching at him. 

'Don't you have something more extraordinary to wear?' She asked him once he reappeared in the room, eyeing him up critically. 

'I am already a spiritual medium, do I really have to add more?' He asked back sarcastically and took a look around. He needed to do something to occupy his mind and cleaning was a good distraction. The room was a mess, but for Debbie, it was probably the concept of art. Maybe he could find something to clean in the kitchen. Or wash windows in his bedroom. He didn't even remember when was the last time he cleaned them. 'This room looks  _ extraordinary _ enough.' 

'Suit yourself.' Debbie shrugged with a pulled face and turned her attention back to the table-lamp she covered with purple silk. 'I'm just adding the last touch. I saw something like that in some movie.' Ian was close to throwing her out, having enough of her decorating skills. 'Room would look more mystical.' Ian doubted it could get more mystical than it already was. 

'I'll charge you if my flat burns down because of your candles.' Ian warned, his eyes warily flickering between small candles lined on the lower shelves on the south wall. The flames were almost licking the fabrics spread on the highest shelf, and the smell of lavender made him gag. 

'Why don't you take a walk?' Debbie suggested as she took in his pale face. 'A bit of fresh air, yea? Lip wouldn't be here for another hour, and in the meantime, I finish the room.'

'God, you're not finished yet?' He growled in frustration, staring at his sister in disbelief. 'Don't overdo it, Debs. In documentaries I watched, mediums don't have offices looking like the insides of gypsy caravan.' 

'It doesn't look like gypsy caravan!' Debbie barked, her cheeks flushed. 'Honestly, Ian, I didn't have to waste my time here! 

'No one asked you to do it!' Ian snapped back with heat. Suddenly emotions he had been trying to keep at bay prevailed over the reason. 

'Fine. It's the last time I'm doing anything for you!' Debbie looked upset and Ian immediately regretted his words. He should be better than this. He knew they were both at their flash points – Debbie is driven by her teenage hormones and upcoming delivery, and Ian dealing with being bi-polar – but he was finding it hard not to snap. Maybe he needed to take some time off. Or maybe he needed to change the meds, again. 

'Debs, look, I'm so-' He tried to apologize, to make amends, but Debbie quickly cut him off. 

'Just go out, Ian! I'll message you when Lip shows up.' Not wanting to make her even angrier, he grabbed his phone and jacket and obediently walked out of his flat. 

He just wanted this day to end.

**

When Ian returned from his walk, Lip was already waiting for him with a dopey grin plastered to his face which he gets whenever he's drunk or high. As if the day couldn't get any worse. 

Ian frantically looked around the room and noticed Debbie's coat and bags were gone. Looked like his apologizes have to wait for another time. He cursed himself under the breath and moved past his brother on his way to the bedroom. 

'Deb's gone.' Lip called after him as if Ian hadn't noticed it himself. 'What did you say you pissed her off so much?' Lip was leaning against the door frame behind Ian's back, clearly expecting him to elaborate on the subject. Apparently, he was too much intoxicated to notice the change of air in the room, which clearly said he should drop it. Ian gritted his teeth in frustration. He threw his jacket carelessly on the unmade bed and raked a hand through his hair. 

'You sure you're ready to go on with that medium shit, tonight?' Ian asked instead and looked warily at his older brother. 

'What do you mean?' Lip frowned confused. 'The first client is coming over in twenty minutes.' 

'Just that you don't look so good, you know?' Ian said, watching him carefully. 'You are supposed to help me with that special effects shit you installed last night, and you look pretty much wasted to me. You sure you can handle it?' 

'I'm not wasted, man.' Lip snorted and shook his head in disbelief. 'I only had a couple of drinks. I had to make sure our potential clients get a bit wasted before they come over. I'm just following the plan, right?' 

'In the plan, we didn't include you drinking or smoking joints.' Ian pointed out, arms crossed against his chest. Lip rolled his eyes at him. 

'You want something to calm your nerves?' 

'No, I'm good.'

'Yea, I can see that.' Lip said with a snort and tucked a cigarette behind his left ear. 'I'm heading to the bar across the street. I'll return with the first client in ten minutes, so be ready.' And with that Lip was gone. 

**

His first client was Ida Knowles – one of the many Lip's girlfriends he's fucking occasionally between classes – a petite blonde with breasts bursting through the opening of her shirt, that decided to do it for fun. She was already swaying on her high-heels when she moved to the chair, her cheeks flushed from the amount of the alcohol she had drunk. 

Thankfully, through the séance she was more interested in trying to flirt with him, than actually paying attention to what he's saying, so he knew he didn't have to put too much effort in his performance. She lasted for about ten minutes until she realized Ian was resistant to her charm and she wasn't going to get laid, tonight. At least not by Ian. 

'Well, that was fun.' She said for goodbye with a slight disdain in her voice and handed him cash. Ian only gave her thin-lipped smile and barely contained himself from flickering a bird after her, when Ida stomped out of the apartment, sulking. At least she had paid. 

Other clients were two nerdy students, Jordan and Vicky, that were into supernatural stuff and were  _ dying _ to contact with any spirit. Ian was worried they'd realize he's lying. For most of the séance, he was sitting with a rigid back, sweating like a pig in a dimly lighted room, and talking a little too fast. Until Lip, hidden in his bedroom, decided to step out with his special effects and made the table-lamp flicker a few times. Students gasped in surprise, looking excited. Ian hid his smirk behind his hand and began to pretend that the spirit of the old postman – Gary – decided to join them and is ready to answer some questions. Lip managed to move a few candles along the shelf and threw down a few books scaring Vicky shitless. 

After getting a few timid answers from  _ Gary  _ through Ian, besides giving Ian a payment, they also tipped him generously and promised to spread a word about Ian around their friends. Ian could work with this. 

After another round of three students, came Ashley Evans – probably the most surprising client Ian had encountered so far. She literally wanted to contact her dead father to ask him for permission to sleep with Lip. Ian discreetly rolled his eyes and was hoping she wouldn't bring any specific things from the past. 

'I hope the answer was yes.' Lip asked with a grin as he emerged from the bedroom around midnight, right after the front door had closed behind Ashley. 

'Want me to misguide the poor girl?' Ian asked with a cocked eyebrow. 

'Does it mean, yes?' Lip's grin widened. Ian flickered him a bird and laughed shortly before he blows the candles. He's worried he wouldn't get rid off their lavender stench for a couple of days. 

'Seriously, I hope there won't be another Ashley Evans coming around, or I swear it's the last time I'm doing this shit.' Ian warned him loyally and scrunched his face. 'God, that was so strange and fucking nuts.' 

'Okay, no more Ashley Evans, got it.' Lip nodded with a chuckle and fished for a cigarette he previously tucked behind his ear. 'Did they pay well?' Ian showed him a thick batch of money. 'Not so bad, then. Nice. I'll bring more tomorrow night.' They both slumped on the couch still covered with Debbie's cloth. Ian coughed when clouds of dust rose in the air. She hadn't even washed them. Ian groaned. Lip passed him a cigarette. 

'For exactly how long you want me to keep going with that shit?' Ian asked. 

'Two or three more days should be enough.' Lip shrugged. 'Why do you ask? Do you already have enough? You were good, man. It was fun.' 

'For Ashley Evans it was serious. She believes in it.' He said quietly. 

'Fuck her. If I know she'd be such a bother, I wouldn't even think about bringing her. It was a stupid idea, okay?' He glanced at Ian. 'I was thinking with my dick.'

'That wouldn't be the first time. It's your  _ default  _ system.' Ian smirked. Lip elbowed him in the ribs. 

'Shut up, punk.'

'Bitch.' 

**

After another bunch of rich kids that apparently didn't know where else to spend their money, Ian was hoping to call it a night and took a well-deserved rest before his afternoon shift as EMT. But Lip had different plans. He showed up at his doorstep half hour later, with Vicky and Jordan in tow, looking giddy. 

'We're planning to play around with the ouija board at our home.' Lip announced with a smirk. 'Vicky and Jordan think it'd be cool if you join us.' Ian stared at him dumbstruck. 'Fiona's at work.'

'We've never before had any sessions with a spiritual medium.' Vicky said with an exciting look at her face. 'It would be so fantastic if you could come over. Just think about the possibilities!' Ian couldn't think of any, but from all of them, she was probably the expert, so he guess she knew what she was talking about. 

'I was just heading to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day for me.' Vicky's smile dropped and she shuffled on her feet. 

'Oh, right. Yea, sure. Next time we'll ask you in advance.' 

'Come on, Ian, let's have some fun.' Lip groaned, persistent as always. 'It wouldn't take you long and you can always crash at home. Your old bed is not taken. And Vicky and Jordan really hoped you'd join us.' 

'No, it's alright, Lip. We understand he wants to have some rest. Let's postpone it for another day.' 

'Liam and Carl are already waiting.' Ian wanted to smack his head. He was going to make him feel guilty. 

'You can do it without me.' Ian retorted back. 'Kids wouldn't mind.' 

'But they want to see a medium in action.' Lip grinned. 'They're super excited.' Ian breathed deeply through the nose.

'You owe me.' He walked over to his bedroom to grab a jacket and phone. Vicky was beyond herself with excitement. 

The walk to their old house didn't take long. They reached it in about twenty minutes, and once they stepped inside the living room, they were welcomed by two exasperate looking kids. 

'What took you so long?' Carl sulked from the couch. 

'Had to convince Ian to come over.' Lip replied and made his way to the kitchen. Carl quickly redirected his eyes at Ian, fuming. Ian ignored him. 

'Don't be so hard on your brother.' Jordan suddenly came to his rescue. 'Evoking spirits it's a very tedious job. Both physically and mentally.' 

'You're a medium?' Carl asked with a frown. 

'No.' Jordan replied with a matching frown.

'So how do you know that?' Count for Carl to make a point you hardly can argue with. Ian rolled his eyes and slumped on the free spot on the floor next to the coffee table. 

'Well, I read a lot and I knew a few mediums - ' He said, flustered. 

'Carl, leave the guy alone, or I'll send you to bed. And I'll lock the door.' Lip threatened and threw a few bags of chips straight onto the ouija board Vicky put down on the coffee table. She pushed them down on the floor with a scrunched face. 

'Isn't Liam a bit too young to play with the ouija board?' Ian asked as he eyed skeptically the youngest Gallagher crouched next to Vicky, helping her lit the candles. 

'He can only watch.' Vicky said in a firm voice before anyone had a chance to speak. 

'I'm staying in a safe distance as well.' Ian jerked his head toward the stairs. He wasn't aware Debbie was home. She hopped down the stairs and greeted him with a blank expression. Apparently, they were still not on good terms. 

'You don't even have to be here if you're worried about your pregnancy.' Lip said and handed each adult in the room a bottle of beer. Vicky declined, stating she needed to have a clear mind. 

'But I want to.' Debbie said and grabbed a chair from the kitchen. She brought it next to the couch and slumped on it. 'I'm curious, and besides in case something goes wrong, someone has to call for help.' 

'And this person has to be you?' Lip eyed her with a cocked eyebrow. 'Liam's not participating, he can do it himself.' Debbie rolled her eyes in annoyance. 'Besides, nothing bad will happen.' 

'Whatever.' She snapped at the same time as someone knocked on the front door. Lip quickly jogged to open it.

'Are we expecting someone else?' Ian asked surprised. 

'Maybe Lip invited someone.' Jonathan shrugged and sat next to Carl. 

To Ian's amazement, their guest was Ida Knowles. Ian groaned involuntarily. Why Lip thought it was a good idea to invite her in, was beyond him. It was obvious she wasn't interested in mediums, spirits, and other supernatural shit. She didn't even find it amusing. 

'Hey, there!' She greeted them with a tooth-rooting smile, her sparkly eyes moving frantically around the room until they spotted Ian on the floor. 'Oh, hi, Ian! It's good to see you again.' She said cheerfully. 

'You too, Ida.' Ian replied reluctantly with a forced smile. She looked like she was going to sit next to him when Lip returned with Marcy Johnson – Ian's best friend – in tow, and unceremoniously wrapped his arm around Ida's waist and led her to the couch. If her face was anything to go, she wasn't happy with the new arrangements. 

'What are you doing, here Marcy?' Ian asked surprised. Marcy slumped on the free spot on the floor and kissed him sloppily on the cheek. In the corner of the eye, Ian noticed how Ida made a face. 

'Lip told me a bit about your new  _ calling. _ ' Marcy smirked down at him. Ian rolled his eyes. Fucking Lip. 'I wanted to see it in practice.' 

'Wouldn't see much, I'm afraid.' He muttered quietly and took a swig of his beer. 

'Doesn't matter.' She chuckled and leaned closer so no one else except Ian could hear her. 'I left you a present in your flat.' She said in a conspirational whisper. An impish grin adorning her face.

'You've been in my flat?' He cocked his eyebrow at her, amused.

'You gave me the keys.' She retorted back without missing a beat and snatched a bottle from his hands.

'You were supposed to use them only when I'm out of town to water my plants.' 

'First off – she jabbed a bottle into his direction – you didn't leave the town in ages. Secondly, you don't have any plants, Ian.' 

'But I might have.' He snatched the bottle back and finished it in one go. Marcy slapped him on the forearm with a scrunched face.

'Bitch.' Ian was ready for a retort when Vicky suddenly pushed into his personal space with a serious face. She grabbed his right hand and unceremoniously put on it some colorless crystal. 

'What's this?' He asked with a frown, his fingers reluctantly closed around the small object. It felt cold in touch. 

'It's a special crystal. It should strengthen your connection with spirits, so they are more likely to appear.' She explained. 'You just need to fill it with your power.' 

'I didn't know things like that even exist.' Lip said and glanced curiously at Ian's hand. 'Cool.'

'Does it mean Ian is now a human lightning catcher?' Carl suddenly asked with a scrunched face, getting everyone's attention. 'Or more like a human spirit catcher, I guess.' 

'In some way, you could say so.' Vicky responded carefully. 

'Just fucking great.' Ian muttered when half of the room burst in laugh. 'Thanks for the comparison, Carl.' The teenager only shrugged apologetically with not so much apologetic look on his face. 

'So, it's dangerous, right?' Debbie prodded and looked worriedly at Ian. 'You sure it's safe for him to use it?' 

'There's always some risk.' Jordan said with an honest expression. 'But it cannot kill him or make any permanent damages.' 

'Now, you really calm me down.' Ian said sarcastically, his eyes dropped to the crystal in his hand. Maybe he should just throw it away. He had enough people ordering him around and telling him what to do. 

'At least let's give it a try.' Vicky stared at him pleadingly. 'If you feel something's not right, we'll just stop right away.' 

'No permanent damages, that's a good thing right?' Lip chimed in, helpful as always. 

'Well, I don't think that's a good idea.' Debbie sided with Ian, and the man was grateful for her support. At least a one Gallagher he could count on. 'It's too risky.'

'So, why don't we vote?' Lip suggested with a shrug. 'It would be fair.' 

'Ian's the only one who's taking a risk, and it should be his decision, Lip.' Debbie argued hotly. 'It's not fair of us to decide for him.' 

'Okay. Ian?' The brothers locked their eyes together. 'You want to spoil the fun, or just give it a go?' The challenge was evident in his voice. 

'Oh, come on, Lip, that's not fair!' 

'Hey man, we can evoke spirits without crystal. It's no big deal.' Jordan chimed in. 

'Fine, let's vote.' Ian replied firmly in a typical Gallagher fashion – he'd be the last to give up on the challenge. Debbie growled in frustration. 

'So who's against?' Lip addressed the room. Debbie's hand immediately shot in the air. Jordan and Marcy joined her. The others stayed put. Lip had already a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. It was obvious which sides win.

'What about you Carl?' Debbie asked her younger brother. 'You really want Ian to risk his health for a bit of fun?' 

'I want to see if he goes all glowy and illuminated like a lightning catcher when its hit with lightning.'

'Carl!' 

'Okay, that was creepy, even I have to admit that.' Lip decided and gave Carl a weird look. 'I'm going to be fair for you, Ian. It'd be best if only adults vote.' 

'Hey, that's not fair, Lip!' Debbie shouted. 'That way I can't vote either. 

'It is what it is, Debs. Besides, we already know who won.' 

'Fine, let's not prolong it.' Ian nodded with a sigh. 'Let's do it before I change my mind and go straight to bed. It's already late and I'm tired.' 

'Lip, can you switch the lights off, please?' Vicky asked, the excitement returned to her face. 'I will start, and you Ian, try to focus on the crystal. If we're lucky maybe we'd invoke some ghost, tonight.' Ian didn't want to shatter her illusions, but there was little he could do with a crystal in his hand, except staring at it like the last idiot. 

Once the room was illuminated only with candles, Vicky asked everyone – except Debbie, Liam, and Ian – to move closer and put their hands on the planchette. Vicky closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before she asked, 'Is anybody in here?'

'We are.' Carl muttered. 

'She meant spirits, you idiot.' Lip rolled his eyes, and Ian barked a short laugh. 

'Be quiet!' Vicky snapped at them, and suddenly no one dared to say a word. Ian rolled a crystal between his fingers, wondering how long it'd take before they admit a defeat and he'd be able to walk back to his flat and get some sleep. He had enough of this supernatural shit and couldn't believe they were all sitting here around the silly board, instead of going to some club to have fun. This wasn't his way of spending his free time and he swears it's the last time he agreed for something like that. 

God, he needed another beer. 

With the hand that wasn't holding a crystal, he blindly reached out toward Lips' backpack lying a few feet away from him, and carefully picked up a bottle. With a triumphal smirk, he laid it on his knees and looked around in search of an opener. 

'If you hear me, please give us a sign.' Vicky called into the room, her face scrunched in concentration. Ian's thumb moved frantically over the surface of the crystal. It's then when he heard a quiet whisper coming somewhere from behind his back. Ian glanced behind his shoulder, but there was no one there, only the wall. He couldn't make up the words, they were spoken too quiet and careless. He looked around the room, but no one was paying him attention. 

'You alright?' Marcy leaned over him, a concern written over her face. Ian nodded with what he hoped was assuring smile and pointed at the bottle in his laps.

'Looking out for the opener.' He whispered back. Marcy stared at him for a long moment, searching for something on his face. 

_ H-hello? Where am I?  _ A far-away male voice spoke in his right ear. Ian looked frantically around the room to see if anyone heard that too.  _ Hello!  _ Suddenly, something burned his thumb. Ian looked down at his hand and released his fist. There in the center of his palm was lying a crystal illuminated with a pink aura, pulsating with heat.

'Holy shit...' He whispered in amazement. Ian heard someone's gasp, then Debbie's short cry. He looked up. Everyone's eyes were staring at his hand. 

'How did you do that?' Ida asked with a shocked face, mouth agape. 

'I've got no idea.' Ian shrugged. 

'Is that a spirit?!' Carl said in awe. 

'Maybe it reacts to heat.' Lip suggested. 

'No, it reacts to the presence of spirit!' Vicky said, with a giddy look on her face. 'It has to be in this room. Finally! You did it, Ian!' But the problem is he did nothing. 

'You're kidding, right?' Debbie firstly looked dumbfounded at Vicky, then moved her eyes to Ian. Her eyes asking;  _ what the fuck, Ian?!  _ The man only shrugged back in response, because what the hell was he supposed to say? His guess was as much as hers. He wasn't a real medium, the crystal wasn't supposed to react to him. If Jordan and Vicky didn't look like kids on Christmas morning, he'd think they set them up, and everything was a joke. 

_ Fuck!!  _ Ian growled and scrunched his eyes tight in pain when unfamiliar voice assaulted his right ear, again. In seconds the crystal on his palm glowed with a serene blue light. Without warning the crystal emanated a high-pitched squeak and then exploded into million pieces. The sharp ends cutting through the skin of Ian's palm. Before Ian could react, a sudden wave of air or fuck knows what rushed through the room like a hurricane. It picked up an ouija board and threw it across the room, startling everyone around. The candles were abruptly extinguished. Someone screamed in a high-pitched voice. 

Ian felt an invisible power pushing painfully on the center of his chest, like a pair of hands. It was crushing him, taking his breath away. People start screaming and crying. Ian was close to panic. 'I hear you.' The words rushed from his lips in a quiet whisper without him even registering it. The pushing lessened. 

Thank fuck.

Then suddenly it pushed back with such a force it threw his whole body back, his back and head colliding painfully with the wall. The screams and shouts began to fade and something warm ran down his neck. He let the darkness take him. 

**

When he regained consciousness, he found himself lying on the couch, the room all bright with light. He heard someone cry. 

'I think I'm gonna go to labor in a minute!' Debbie shouted somewhere in the room. 

'You won't, Debbie! Your water didn't break. Just calm down.' Fiona. Shit. 'Carl, go fetch Vee!' 

Ian pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan. His body hurt, and his throat was dry. He saw Debbie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, face all red and wet from tears, hands wrapped around her belly. Lip hovered behind her back with a guilty face. Fiona had her arm wrapped protectively around Debbie, her face furious. She was still in her uniform. 

'Someone's gonna tell me what the fuck happened, here?' Fiona demanded, her eyes moved to the couch, and then to Ian. 

'It was just for fun. I would never think...' Lip muttered shakily, but Fiona wasn't listening to him. Instead, she bored her stare into Ian as if sensing he was the weakest link in the room. And probably that was true. 

'We played with the ouija board.' He admitted with cast down eyes. He didn't want to see a disappointment in his sister's eyes. 

'And something went wrong.' He heard Vicky's soft voice coming from somewhere on the floor. 'I guess, he's either stronger medium than we thought or the spirit...' 

'What medium?' Fiona demanded with taken aback face. 'What does it have to do with the mess in the room and Ian's injuries?' 

'Ian's a medium. He can evoke spirits.' 

'What?' She gave Vicky incredulous look. 'Our Ian? No way...' She looked between Ian and Lip. Both men were avoiding her inquiring stare. Fiona's face hardened. 'Okay, that's enough! Everyone's except Gallaghers, out!' She barked the order, and he heard people rushing out. 'You too, Marcy.' Ian massaged his temples, knowing well-enough they're in for the good lecture. 'Lip, bring an aid kit. We need to dress the wounds on Ian's palm.' His older brother immediately rushed toward the stairs, using the occasion to avoid Fiona's drilling. 

'When Carl and Lip are back, I'm expecting to hear from you, what the fuck is going on in here.' Fiona said in a tone that didn't leave any place for discussion, her hands on her hips. 'And it better be a good reason. I had to left in the middle of my shift.' Literally, they were screwed. 

**

It was well past midnight when Ian hobbled back to his flat. He didn't want to overdue Fiona's hospitality, especially when she had her hands full with Liam – the kid was scared shitless – and Debbie. Thankfully, his sister wasn't going to drop any kid on their kitchen table any soon, but she was definitely shaken with the whole ordeal and at Vee's suggestion she's going to see her doctor next morning to check on a baby. Ian hoped everything was alright. He wouldn't forgive himself if something happens to Debbie's kid. 

Fiona had been furious. She had demanded they'd cut this shit out and made a suggestion that Ian is not welcome in their house until he grows up. It was harsh, but in comparison to Lip, he got the most lenient punishment from the two of them. And he wasn't going to push his luck. 

Ian slipped inside the flat, switched the lamp on, and with a tired groan slipped off his jacket and threw it across the couch. He rubbed his eyes and was on his way to the bedroom when with the corner of his eye he caught a movement. He stopped dead at the track and turned around. He almost screamed when he spotted an unfamiliar man standing behind the TV. The stranger was staring back at him with a confused face, his eyes wide and scared. 

And then it clicked. 

Marcy's present. Jesus, he wondered how long this poor guy has to wait for him. 

'Look, I'm so sorry. I wasn't aware of Marcy's plan. It was supposed to be a surprise.' He apologized straight away, his eyes traveled over the man's form. He was shorter than Ian and stocky. With a black hair cut shorter at sides, and couple mesmerizing blue eyes. 

Ian was a sucker for blue eyes. 

The man licked his plump lips, his face guarded. He shoved hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans, his eyes darting around, but never stopping on Ian. He was nervous or very shy. Ian wondered where the hell Marcy had found him. He was cute. 

'Maybe you'd like to drink something? Or maybe you're hungry?' Ian offered when the man stayed quiet. Ian didn't think he'd be up for anything after tonight's attractions, but at least they could eat together – he thinks he has a frozen pizza – and watch something on DVD. He guesses they could always hook up the other day. Marcy hadn't said his surprise it's only for one night. 

'Water.' The man finally responded in a hoarse, deep voice that made Ian's knee wobble. He was still avoiding his stare, but at least looked less guarded. 

'Anything to eat?' The man shook his head. 

'Water, it is. Take a seat on the couch.' Ian gave him a gentle smile and rushed toward the small kitchen located on the opposite side of where the stranger was standing. 'I'll be back in a minute.' Ian pulled a tall glass from the cupboard and quickly poured water from the bottle. On reflection, he reached out for the pack of snacks. Maybe the man would like to eat something but was too shy to ask. 

Ian returned to the living room with a glass in one hand and a pack of snacks in the other, a smile plastered to his face. 

'So, maybe we could wat-' He stopped in the middle as he noticed there was no trace of the man in the room. Ian frowned. 'Hey, where are you?!' He called louder and quickly disposed of everything he holds onto the coffee table. Maybe he was in the bathroom? Ian quickly made a run around his flat, but there was no sign of the man.

Ian was disappointed. 

He glanced toward the front door and noticed they were slightly ajar. Shit. And here Ian was hoping for a nice ending of his shitty day. He kicked the door closed and locked it. 

Life sucks. 


	2. Come in, stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments, kudos, and bookmarks :) They're just a great motivation for me to keep going with this story.

The smell of disinfectants was still lingering around Ian, though his shift had ended about an hour ago. He guessed Sue has been right when she had told him not so gently to stop scrubbing the equipment at the back of their ambulance with such a force, it was a miracle he hadn't dissolve all instructions of use from the medical equipment. She hadn't been impressed with his ministrations and sent him back to home two hours before his shift normally ends. Ian had tried to argue with her he was fine, but she had none of it. 

With way too much force it had been needed he slammed the door of his locker, messaged Marcy he was up to meet earlier than they planned, and sent Sue a pointed look that screamed;  _ I'm fucking okay, and you're just overacting!  _ With that, he was gone. 

By the time he reached Patsy's, he was still in a foul mood and stinking, if the looks of discomfort and disgust on the faces of people he was passing by was anything to go. He pulled the door wide open, walked in, and almost immediately spotted Marcy already sitting at their usual table, in hands nursing her latte. Ian took a quick look around, wondering if Fiona was around. He didn't see any sign of her. 

He was half pleased with that because it meant he could avoid her interrogation about why he finished his work early today, which sooner or later would end in another fight between them. But the other half was disappointed since he was kind of hoping that maybe they could try to bury a hatchet and Fiona could forgive him their little stunt. In the end, he has been doing this for all of them. 

He was thinking about going and check Fiona's office to see if she's in when Marcy spotted him. She smiled brightly and waved at him, and Ian didn't have any other choice like to move toward their booth. He slipped into the opposite sit, greeted her shortly and grabbed the menu. Marcy sniffed the air. She grimaced and her hand flew to her face to cover her nose and lips. 

'Can you feel that smell? It stinks almost like in a portable toilet.' She asked, a voice dripping with disgust. Ian levelled her with a hard stare. Marcy stared back at him questioningly, until it clicked. She immediately dropped her hand. 'Oh, well, it doesn't matter. It's not so bad, after a while.' Ian didn't even flinch. Marcy licked her lips nervously, thinking about the way to change the topic. 'So, how was your work?' Bad move, Marcy, she thought idly, when Ian was shooting daggers above the menu at her. 'So, this happened...'

'Yea, it did.' Ian cut her shortly and dropped the menu at the table. 'I was cleaning our car. It's a part of our work. To take care of the appliances we use daily.' He explained slowly with a pointed look.

'Yea, sure, Ian. I get it.' She nodded her head in earnest. 'I meant no offence. Although, you could always take a shower before your shift end.' She added the first thing that crossed her mind, whichever wasn't the best thing to say. 

'I didn't have lunch, yet. I'm taking fries.' Ian said, with a still unimpressed face. Marcy took the offered change of topic like a drowning man will clutch at a straw. 

'Just cherry pie for me.' She said quickly. 'I already ordered a coffee for you.' She grabbed the Styrofoam cup Ian hadn't notice earlier and pushed it into man's hands. 'Your favourite brand.' She added with a bright smile, hoping it would ease the tension. This time she wasn't wrong. Ian's eyes gleamed in excitement. 

'Thanks.' He muttered a shadow of a smile passed through his face. Marcy breathed in relief. 

Ian ordered the food and they made a small chit-chat about nothing particular while they wait for their meals. Marcy was treading carefully around the man, didn't want to set him off, again. It seemed to work, as Ian visibly relaxed into his seat, a small smile gracing his face from time to time, when Marcy told him something funny. When their order was served, they were in relative peace, and whatever was troubling Ian before, didn't bother him any more. 

Ian picked up one of his fries and bit into it with a soft moan. Marcy chuckled at him, but she quickly stopped once she noticed a bandage covering Ian's hand. She grimaced as the memories from two nights ago came back to her.

'How are you, Ian?' She asked softly, a concern written over her face. 'Does it hurt much?' At first, Ian frowned at her, not getting what she was talking about, but then he followed Marcy's stare and everything made sense. 

'Oh, this. Nah, there are just a few shallow wounds, that's all. I'll live.' He shrugged non-committally and shoved another fry into his mouth. He decided not to mention the terrible headaches he keeps having since that night. There was nothing Marcy could do about them, and there was no point to add another thing to the list of things that worried her. It was stress, nothing else. 

'Good, cause it looked pretty bad. It was one hell of the night.' Ian smiled and nodded his head in agreement. 'Please, don't do this  _ ever _ again... At least not when I'm around.' She indulged him with a crooked smile and stole a fry from his plate. 

'Can't promise that. I still don't know what the fuck happened back there.' Ian said with a frown, the bits of the night flashing through his mind. 'I shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place. Should know it was a stupid idea, and now Fiona doesn't want us to keep going with this séance shit.' Ian admitted with a deep sigh, his eyes moving toward the waitresses rushing between tables. Marcy wondered idly if he was looking out for Fiona. 'We need to find a new way to get the money to keep the house.' He murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. 

'I bet you fall into another very creative way of getting them.' She said with a roll of her eyes. 'Trust Gallaghers to make it unforgettable.' Ian hummed, his face stoic as he averted his gaze back to the table, suddenly looking small and sad. Marcy reached out her hand and rested it on top of Ian's injured ones. 'You'll figure out something. Don't worry.' She added in a soft voice. 

'Yea.' There was still sadness lingering around the man, his fingers playing idly with fries on his plate. Marcy decided to change the topic for something lighter.

'So, how do you find your present?' She asked in an exciting voice, a grin spread on her lips. She was glad to notice she hit the spot. Ian's ears perked up at the mention of his present, his eyes got back the familiar spark. 

'Very nice... In my type, I guess.' Ian shrugged trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. Marcy maybe would buy it, if she didn't notice a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

'Your type, huh? Never pegged you for this kind of guy.' She said amused. 'You're full of surprises, Gallagher.' 

'What can I say?' Ian shrugged again, this time allowing himself for a cheeky grin. 'I only wish I could enjoy my present a little longer.' He admitted with a sigh. At some point, the silly part of him was hoping the guy would just show up on his doorstep, so he'd have a chance to lose himself in his stormy blue eyes. 

'Don't tell me you broke it already!' Marcy scowled at him with an indignant look on her face. 

'He was in excellent shape the last I saw him.' Ian threw his hands up in self-defence with an innocent look on his face, Marcy didn't buy even one bit. 'Unfortunately, didn't have enough time to do anything.' He added, this time his lips spread in a devilish grin. Marcy drew her brows together. 

' _ He,  _ huh?' There was something odd in the way she said it. 'You named him, too?' 

'What? You mean like a nickname?' Ian's expression was mirroring Marcy's.

'Well, maybe. I don't know.' She said slowly, with a strange look at her face, that Ian didn't like one bit. 'Did you?'

'Even if I wanted, I didn't even have time to come out with something. He was gone before I got a good look of him.' Ian shrugged and resume eating his fries. 

'I have to admit I'm getting a bit confused, here.' Marcy said, her gaze burning a hole in his face. 'I just...I don't know. Do we even talk about the same thing?' She asked carefully with a pinched face. 

'Well, I don't know, you tell me.' Ian replied, suddenly feeling irritated with Marcy's strange act. 'I thought we're talking about your present.'

'So were I...' Marcy bit down on her low lip, her eyes searching for something in his face, like that night they had played with the ouija board. Ian didn't like that look. It was all Fiona. The look reserved for her, every time she asked him;  _ did you take your meds, yet?  _ 'So, let me get this straight...' 

'Yea, that would be nice.' Ian chimed in sarcastically, his knee bouncing rapidly. 

'So, you're telling me, that your new smartwatch is in your type and just vanished in thin air before you had a chance to get dirty with it?' Marcy's eyebrow arched, her eyes staring back at him questioningly. 

'Wait, what?!' Ian snapped, dumbstruck. 'What smartwatch?' 

'Your present.' Marcy replied slowly as if she was talking to a child. 'I bought you a smartwatch. I left the box on your desk.' 

'I didn't notice it, shit.' He admitted sheepishly and rubbed his left eyebrow. 

'Well, thank God we weren't talking about the same thing then, or you'd get me worried.' Marcy chuckled with relief. 

'But that doesn't explain his presence...' Ian started vaguely, brows drew in confusion. 'I thought that you...' He bit down on his low lip, looking apprehensive. 

'His presence? Jesus, Ian. You thought that what exactly I bought you?' She asked taken aback. A blush spread over Ian's cheeks, and he averted his eyes. 'Ian!' She said in that demanding voice that didn't leave him with any option but to reply. 

'A guy.' He murmured, his eyes trained at the pink gum someone left stuck to the table. Marcy gasped, her eyes widened in horror. A few heads turned around and were staring at them with curiosity. 

'You're kidding me, right?!' Marcy snapped, looking affronted. Ian's back got rigid, his chin pulled up.

'I don't know, you tell me!' Ian snapped back, suddenly feeling the surge of anger filling his body. 'You're playing with me, or what Marcy? Two nights ago you told me, there's a present waiting for me in my flat. I went back home, and the first thing I saw was a hot guy standing in my living room! From both of us,  _ I  _ have a fucking right to be annoyed and angry, not you! What do you expect I should feel, hmm?' By the time he finished his rant, he realised that his outburst caught everyone's attention, and they were openly ogling at them with various expressions on their faces. Marcy blushed and hunched over the table as if she was trying to make herself look small, while Ian found himself staring at the table again as if it was the most interesting thing in the Patsy's. 

He thought he saw one of the waitresses making a call. She rushed quickly with a phone pressed to her ear, once she noticed Ian was looking at her. 

Ian wondered if she was calling Fiona. 

Fuck this.

'Look, Ian -' Marcy started in a soft murmur, leaning over the table so no one else could hear them any more. '- I know how it looks like, but Ian, that wasn't me. Honestly.' Marcy said firmly with a sombre expression. 'You thought I'd leave a random guy in your flat?' Ian reluctantly shook his head. 'Besides, hell, I'd never buy you an escort. I might try to set you up for a date, but not for something like this.' 

'But then, if it wasn't you, then what he was doing in my flat?' Ian mused. 'You think it could be Lip's idea?' 

'Don't think so.' Marcy said after a long pause. 'If it was Lip's doing he wouldn't just run away, would he? This guy didn't seem to wait for you... How did he act?'

'I don't know, he was surprised, I think.' Ian shrugged as he recalled his meeting with a stranger. 'A little bit guarded.'

'A bit guarded, huh?' 

'Maybe he's shy.' 

'For God's Sake, Ian! Do you even listen to what are you saying?' Marcy suddenly snapped at him with wide eyes. 'You don't have to be Albert Einstein to figure out who he was!' Ian frowned affronted. 'Oh my God, Ian!' Marcy gasped, couldn't believe in what she's hearing. 'You caught a burglar!'

'A burglar?' Ian repeated with a scrunched expression. That was probably the last thing that crossed his mind. 

'Well, how else would you explain his presence?' Marcy looked at him knowingly, before she broke into another gasp. 'What if he was armed?! Ian was he?!'

'How the hell I am supposed to know that? He looked harmlessly to me.' He shrugged. 'Not that I have enough time to take a good look at him.' He sulked. 

'Well, you had to see his hands!' Marcy pointed out, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

'No, I didn't. He had them in the pockets of his jeans all the time.' 

'He was probably searching for his knife!' Marcy gasped, a vision of Ian lying prone on the floor of his flat, covered with blood, formed in her mind. 'Jesus, Ian, you're so lucky you're alive! He could kill you!'

'I already told you he looked harmless.' Ian repeated firmly, didn't enjoy the fact she was implying that his dream guy was a blood-hearted murderer. Gallaghers have their standards. 'If he had a knife, he wouldn't wait for me to go to the kitchen to dash out, Marcy.' 

'Okay, you've got a point, but still, it could end badly, Ian. You were  _ really _ lucky.' She sighed heavily and squeezed his hand. 'If he did something to you, it'd be my fault.' Tears were shining in her smouldering brown eyes. 

'Don't say that, Marcy.' Ian said softly and reciprocate her gesture – his hand wrapped tightly around her gentle one's. 'If he really was a burglar and I knew that back there, I'd get into a fight with him, and who knows how that would end.' 

'It sounds awful, enough.' She sniffed. 'You've got any idea how he could get in? I swear I made sure to lock the door before I left.' 

'Maybe through bedroom window? I left it open.' 

'You have to be more careful now, Ian. You never know if he doesn't try it again.' 

'I'll be more guarded, okay?' He offered with a tight lip smile. Independently from what they established, some deep part of him was hoping he'd see the man, again. 

**

Ian returned to his flat late into the night and immediately made a beeline to the fridge to get a beer. He knew he should be careful with alcohol as it could mess up with his medication, but after today's revelations, he needed one. He was still in his jacket when he uncapped the bottle and took a long swing of the cold, golden liquor. 

It was good. 

He was leaning his back against the fridge and enjoying the taste of the beer when his ears caught a strange noise coming out from somewhere in his flat. His heartbeat accelerated, a bottle pressed to his lips, as he listens. Then, there it was again. 

A rattle. 

And then a sound of rolling. 

Ian put the bottle away on the countertop and carefully walked out of the kitchen. He felt he stepped on something small and hard. He lifted his right foot still clad in an old sneaker and noticed a green, marble ball. He remembered that weeks ago Debbie brought him a vase full of them and put it on the coffee table as a decorum. Ian kneeled and carefully pick the marble up. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, watching with fascination how the marble catches different shades of green whenever the light from the nearest lamp hit it. 

With the corner of his eye, he noticed another – this time blue – a marble rolling slowly into his direction. It stopped in front of his other shoe, when the sound of rattle broke the silence, again. He jerked his head up, and he felt how his eyes comically grew up. A breath hitched in his throat.

A few feet away, kneeling next to the coffee-table was  _ him.  _ Startled stormy blue eyes locked with his, a gentle blush crept on the man's pale high-cheeks. His right hand rested at the top of the table, tatted fingers at ready to put another marble ball at motion. 

Ian caught him red-handed. 

The guy broke their staring contest as the first – he quickly scrambled to his feet, eyes dashing frantically around the room as if he was searching for a good escape route. But this time Ian will not allow that. 

'Don't even think about that.' Ian said as he quickly sprang to his feet, arms spread at his side. The man flinched visibly, his tongue flickered over his low lip in a nervous tic. 'How did you get in?' He demanded. As far as he remembered he didn't leave any windows open and the lock from the front door was untouched. Either there some secret route to his flat Ian wasn't aware of, or the man was a fucking Houdini. 

'Don't know.' The man muttered quietly, his eyes averted down. Ian cocked his eyebrow. 

'What do you mean, you don't know? You're high on something?' Ian cautiously took a step back and slightly lowered his arms. He knew how violent drug addicts can be if they feel threatened. Ian didn't have any weapon at hand to protect himself, only his muscles, which after he took a better look at the guy, figured could meet their match. The man could be smaller but had strong arms and legs. And just to think a few hours ago he had been telling Marcy the man was shy and harmless. The overestimation of the year, he thought drily. 'Look, I just want to talk...I want to know what are you doing in my flat?  _ Again _ .' 

'And I already told you. I don't fucking know!' The man blurted out angrily, baring his teeth. 

Ian took another step back, getting closer to the kitchen. There was a block with knives near the doorway. If he only takes another step or two, he could quickly grab one of them. 

'Okay.' Ian nodded slowly and licked his lips nervously. 'Why don't you sit down and we just have a chat, huh? Maybe we could figure out what's going on...' Ian's propose was met with a look of bewilderment. 

'Are you fucking serious?' The man asked with a snort. 'You see a stranger in your fucking flat and you ask him to have a chat on the couch? What next? Are you going to offer a cup of tea, too?' The man threw his hands in the air in disbelief. 'Jesus, from all places I could be, I have to find myself in the flat of fucking nut case!' Ian's face turned red, his hands clenched tightly as he felt the anger rousing in him. 'Unbelievable!' 

'Fuck this. I'm gonna call police.' Ian muttered and reached out for his phone hidden in the back pocket of his jeans. The man's eyes grew bigger in fear.

'What? Hey, man, there's no need -' The words quickly rushed from his mouth, but Ian didn't have any of that. He was already dialling a number. 'Fuck!!' The man suddenly roared, making Ian almost drop the phone onto the floor.

That voice. 

'I heard you...' Ian started quietly, his eyes in disbelief were following the man pacing back and forth along the length of the couch standing between them like a shield. 'That night, at home. I think I heard you. I don't know how this is possible, but yea...' He added quieter, his brows hunched. The man stopped his march and looked quizzically at Ian. 

'Yea, you asked me if I wanted water or some other shit.' He shrugged. 'So what?'

'Not then!' Ian snapped and winced slightly when the man flinched back as he was physically hit. 'I mean it was that night, but not here. It happened at my old house. We were playing with the ouija board when I heard you.' He explained. 

'You were playing with what?' The man's face screwed in confusion. 

'Ouija board. We were supposed to talk with ghosts or some other shit.' He shrugged. The way the man was looking at him right now, made his cheeks flaming in embarrassment. 

'What for?' He asked taken aback. 'Don't ya have better things to do on your free night?' 

'You made a valid point. I asked myself the same question.' He replied sarcastically. Even back there deep down he knew it had been a bad idea to accept Lip's invitation. 

'I'm taking thinking isn't your strong point, huh?' He asked sarcastically, cheeky a smirk formed on his lips. 

'Do you always insult those you're trying to rob?' Ian fired back, annoyed. 

'I'm not a burglar, you shit case. And I'm leaving, right now.' Ian's body jerked up at the man's sudden announcement.

'You're not going anywhere!' The redhead shouted when the stranger began to walk into the direction of his bedroom. The man flipped him a bird and suddenly quicken his pace. Ian rushed after him with a determined look on his face. 

They met in the halfway, man's eyes grew up in the mix of surprise and fear. Without a second thought, Ian lurched at him. He was expecting to meet with a hard, warm body he was supposed to tackle down to the ground, instead, his body went through the stranger's body like a knife through butter. A chilling cold enveloped his whole body. He fell hard on the floor, on his stomach, his teeth rattled painfully at the impact when his jaw hit the floor. His teeth cut through the end of his tongue, and Ian could feel blood filling his mouth. He heard someone panting heavily above him. 

With a struggle, Ian turned into his back and propped himself into elbows. He felt warm blood dripping down his chin. 

The man was hovering at his feet, face white as a sheet, eyes wide awake, laboured breaths leaving his wide opened mouth. Their eyes met. And then the realization hit them. 

At unison, they both started to scream. 


	3. The night talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I'm grateful for all kudos :)

Ian was seated on the coffee table with a bag of peas wrapped in a towel and pressed to the bottom of his jaw. The wound on his tongue was barely bleeding now – after a quick check-up he found out the end of the tongue was still connected with the rest, and the wound wasn't that deep as he first thought, so he probably wouldn't need stitches. And that was a relief. He didn't think he is up to explain to Sue how did he manage to do it. The tale about how he tried to tackle down a ghost in his flat could only end in him getting a one-way ticket to the mental institution. 

It sounded insane, and Ian himself could barely believe in what he had experienced if the culprit wasn't seated on the couch only a few feet away from him. A man, ghost, or what the fuck he was, was staring at him without saying a word, his pink tongue licking his low lip from time to time in a nervous tic. Ian spluttered the rest of the blood into the small bowl he had brought earlier from the kitchen, and wiped with the sleeve of his jacket the remains of blood and saliva from his chin. His eyes settled at his guest. 

It was time to talk. 

'You really don't have any idea why are you here?' He asked and winced at how hoarse his voice sounded. The man in question shook his head, a frown deepening his face. 'Do you know this flat? Could you live here?' Ian remembered the documentaries where spiritual mediums talked about how some ghosts are attracted to the places they've known. 

'Never been there.' He finally responded, his voice matching Ian's. It seemed like their screaming session from thirty minutes ago did a number on their vocal cords. It was surprising his neighbors hadn't called the cops, yet. He's damn sure they had to wake up the whole building. 

'You sure? Not so long ago you were telling me you don't remember a damn thing, and now you're telling me you know you've never been there?' Ian eyed him skeptically. 

'Because I don't.' The man replied briskly, annoyance clear on his face. His hands clenched tightly at his laps. 

'So, how can be so sure you've never been here?' Ian didn't give up. The man growled in frustration, one of his hand sneaked into the pocket of his jeans. Whatever he was searching for, he didn't find there, if the look of dismay and quiet –  _ fuck! -  _ was any indication. 

'I don't know how, but I just know, alright?' He snapped, his stormy blue eyes fixed with Ian's ones. 'Look, you're not the only one who's confused, man. I'm looking for any explanation, just like you.' Ian's face softened as he took in at the man's hunched form, teeth bared, looking like a startled dog. He couldn't even imagine what the other man could feel right now. Being all by himself in a stranger's house. No memories from the past, not even being aware of what happened to him. 

And Ian thought he had a shitty day. 

'I'm sorry. I can't even imagine what are you feeling right now.' Ian apologized quietly, his eyes filled with sadness and remorse. 

'No shit.' The man breathed out shakily, his face softening. They fall into a relative silence – Ian trying to come up with an idea of how to tackle his unexpected guest's presence, while the other man was stubbornly staring at the vase filled with marble balls. 

'But maybe - ' Ian started slowly, in mind trying carefully to process his next words, so he wouldn't make the other man angry or upset, '- there's something you remember? Anything you can think of. Even a small detail can be important.' Ian suggested softly, hoping this would lead them to something. The man worried his low lip with teeth as he mulled over something. 

'I just remember my name, that's all.' He finally shrugged with a blank face. 

'Well, that's good for a start. Didn't have to call you a stranger anymore.' Ian offered him a small smile. The man looked at him from the corner of his left eye, tongue poking his cheek, as he pondered. 

Eventually, he sighed heavily and slumped further into his seat, before he managed to rasp, 'it's Mickey.' 

'I'm Ian. Nice to meet you, Mickey.' 

'Seriously?' Mickey snorted with his eyebrows raised.

'What? I'm just trying to loosen up some tension in the room.' Ian shrugged, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 'You never know for how long are we going to stick together.' Mickey groaned at this, his eyes screwed tight. 'Anything else? Where were you before you got here?' 

'In the darkness.' He shrugged. 'I was walking around for fuck knows how long trying to find a way out, but there was none. I was calling out, but no one replied.' 

'Actually, maybe I did hear you.' Ian mused. 

'Yea, maybe.' Mickey licked his lip nervously, his beautiful eyes watching him with curiosity. Ian is sure, he easily could get lost in them. 'For a moment I saw a pulsating pink or red light. I went to it, and I reached out to touch it. The light was warm under my palm and I could feel it pulsating through my all body. I heard some loud voices, but I couldn't make up what they were saying. I tried to contact them, but they couldn't hear me or they just fucking ignore me, I don't know. I got angry and the light suddenly turned blue and got cold. After a while, it vanished... Then, out of nowhere, I felt something pull for me. Like really hard. I lost my footing and before I know I was falling down... Then I noticed a splash of colors forming on both sides and the blackness that surrounded me before turned into the shape of a tunnel. I closed the eyes for a moment. And when I opened them again, I was right here. Standing behind your TV, with no recollection of what the fuck just happened.' By the end of the story, Mickey's voice was shaking lightly, his hands once again were shoved to the pockets of his jeans, and again they found nothing. The man cursed under his breath. 

'And before darkness? Any hints of what happened?' Ian prompted gently. 

'Nah, just darkness. No faces, places, nothing. Still had no fucking clue where am I.' 

'You're in Southside. In Chicago.' Ian offered, and the man hummed back non-committally. 

'It rings a bell, but I don't know why.'

'And what about the other night, when you disappeared. What happened to you?' 

'I thought I have to run away before you call cops. I rushed to your bedroom and when I got there, suddenly everything starts fading into blackness. I returned to where I was before, and stayed there until I was brought here, again.' 

'You saw any light this time?'

'No.' Ian hummed, his face screwed in concentration. 'Do you have the slightest idea of what could happen to you?' 

'Not even one bit.' Mickey admitted. 'It's a fucking mess, that's for sure.' 

'What about your last name?'

'No idea.' Crap. Ian threw the bag with peas on the table and ran hands through his hair. 'Don't think I helped you with anything, do ya?' The man said with a hollow laugh. 'Didn't get any closer to solve this mystery.' 

'I always could...' Ian muttered quietly, his eyes nervously moving toward his bedroom. 'Check on my laptop the recent...' He looked pointedly back at Mickey. 

'Check recent what?' Mickey asked with a frown, his eyes scrutinizing. Ian felt nervous. 

'You know...' 

'I don't, so just say it!' 

'Check the obituary notices.' He finally blurted out, cheeks flaming. 'We know your first name, so maybe - ' He didn't has a chance to finish, when Mickey suddenly jumped out of the couch as it was burning him, his eyes wild. 

'I'm not fucking dead!' Mickey yelled straight into his face, the flashes of different emotions moving through his face. Ian pulled back taken aback with the man's sudden declaration. 'Fuck, no!' 

'Mick, you're a ghost.' Ian said calmly, his hands raised in the air. 'You know it. You  _ saw  _ it.' Mickey shook his head and began pacing nervously. 'Mick, honestly, how else would you explain what happened?' Ian wanted to reach out to him, to rest a hand atop his shoulder, and offer him the comfort he knew the man needed right now. But he knew it was not possible. 

'I don't know, but I can't be dead! I'd know that!' Mickey said forcefully, his voice shaking and blue eyes rimmed with unshed tears. Ian would give anything to be able to pull him into a hug and tell him everything is going to be alright. 

'I can't even imagine how bad you have to feel right now. How scared and confused...'

'You're right. You can't.' Mickey snapped and rushed toward the bathroom. 

'Hey, where are you going?!' Ian called after him surprised. Despite the pain in his back and knees, he quickly scrambled to his feet. 

'Away.' Mickey replied shortly, and like it was totally normal, he went through the bathroom door. Ian cringed involuntarily. It'd take him some time to get used to the sight of Mickey's unnatural abilities. 

Ian followed him shortly and gently pushed the door open. He found Mickey sitting on the toilet with eyes red and puffy, a traces of tears shining on his pale cheeks. Ian leaned against the doorway. 

'It's going to be okay, Mick.' He said softly and he really meant it. Mickey made a chocked sound and wiped his eyes with a hand. 'We'll figure out something. I promise.'

**

By midnight, Ian was lying in his bed and browsing through the Internet searching for anything related to ghosts, the afterlife, and haunted houses. Mickey was with him the entire time, sitting on the windowsill and staring out through the window. He refused to help Ian, stating he rather wants to stay oblivious about the whole thing. Ian couldn't blame him really. He couldn't even imagine what he'd feel if he was the one searching for his own necrology. 

It was too much for one night. 

Ian marked down a few websites for later and clapped his laptop shut. He put it down on the other side of the bed and lied down. He propped himself into one elbow and turned on his left side.

'It's funny how I can't touch you, but you can normally sit on my windowsill.' Ian suddenly said with an amused lilt to his voice, his eyes shifted to Mickey. 

'Surprised?' The man asked with a shrug, his eyes still focused on something outside the window.

'Just curious. You walk through the doors like there were nothing, but you can sit on the couch without getting sucked into it. How does it actually work?' 

'I've got no fucking idea.' Mickey admitted and finally turned his head away from the window and looked at Ian. 'Sometimes I can use things and sometimes I can't. I'm still new to this.' Ian smiled sadly. 'I'm trying to figure out what I can do through trial and error method... I know I can flip the marble balls around, but I can't exactly pick them up.' 

'So, that was what you were doing, when I caught you.' Ian mused. 'Can you actually feel anything?'

'Like what?'

'Like, being hungry, tired...' Ian prompted. 

'I'm feeling cold. Like  _ really _ cold, as if I was buried deep down in the snow. I tried to pull your blanket over me, but it was not enough. I was still cold.' 

'That sucks.' Ian said softly, his eyes scanning Mickey's shirt with cut off sleeves. He didn't wear any jacket, it was no wonder he was feeling cold. Ian wished he could give him one of his jumpers. 

'It does.' Mickey nodded, his face softened under Ian's warm eyes. 

'Are you tired?' 

'A little bit... And no, I'm not sure if I can actually go to sleep.' He added, forestalling Ian's next question. 'Don't worry your pretty head with that. I'll stay on your couch and watch TV.' He jumped from the windowsill. 'Go to sleep. You have to be tired now.' 

'I can stay for a little bit longer and keep you company.' Ian offered with that gentle look in his eyes that made Mickey feel uneasy. 'Tomorrow's my day off.' 

'Go to sleep.' Mickey repeated in a firm voice and moved toward the bedroom door. 'There's nothing we can talk about.'

'We don't have to talk. We can watch something on TV...' Ian tried again, but Mickey shook his head.

'Goodnight, Ian.' He said in a softer voice and went through the door before Ian could say anything back. The redhead sighed heavily and reluctantly switched the lamp off. If Mickey didn't want his company, let it be. 

Ian wrapped the quilt around his body and pretend he didn't spend most of the night listening up to Mickey's soft steps around the flat and to the quiet hum coming from the television. 

**

Ian woke up late. His tongue was swelled and throbbing, and his knees still hurt when he scrambled off the bed. His fingers gently probed the bottom of his jaw, and he hissed slightly in the pain. He bet there were the whole series of different shades bruises formed on the skin. He'll have to come up with a good explanation of his poor looks. 

Shit.

His head was pounding again and throat was dry as a desert. Ian grabbed the bottle with water he always keeps on the night-stand and drank half of it in one gulp. By the end, his tongue hurt like a bitch and he quickly rummaged through the drawer in search of painkillers. He quickly popped two pills into his mouth, sloshed them with the remains of the water in the bottle, and decided he's in a dire need of black coffee with extra sugar. 

He held his breath when his hand rested on the door handle, suddenly aware that after last night's revelations, nothing would look the same ever again. He's not sure what he's supposed to expect once he opens the door. Was it all just a bad dream? Maybe he shouldn't really drink that beer, and his mind was playing tricks on him. The part of him wanted this to be true – he'd just need to go see his therapist, probably make changes in his medication and refrain from any alcohol, and then everything returns to normal. He'll be back to his old self and forgets about everything that happened in the past few days.

But deep down, he knew that's not true. Something irreversibly changed within him. In his eyes, Mickey was just as real as any human being. He couldn't imagine all of this and blame this on his bipolarism. Even when he has been going through the mania phase, he had never imagined anyone looking so alive like Mickey. He had to be real, and though that thought scares the shit out of him, he had to admit that a part of him wants so badly to find Mickey sitting on his couch. And with a fluttering heart in his chest, he realized he's more than anything scared that if he opens that door, the man wouldn't be there anymore. 

Ian mentally tried to prepare himself for a disappointment, because in his shitty existence that's one constant point. He pulled the door open, his eyes immediately shifted toward the couch. The TV was still on, but there was no sign of Mickey. A shaky breath left Ian's mouth and he had to lean against the doorway, suddenly feeling light-headed. 

'You alright?' Ian's head whipped to the right, eyes widened in surprise. In the doorway of the kitchen was standing Mickey, with a crooked smile and amused gleam in his eye. 'You look like you've seen a ghost, man.' Ian couldn't stop himself from smiling widely. 'No pun intended.' 

'So it is real.' Ian said in awe, his eyes roaming around Mickey's body. He looked tired, there were dark bags under his eyes, but besides this, he looked just the same. Same clothes, same face, and those  _ mesmerizing _ eyes. Mickey's tongue flickered his low lip and he cast his eyes down, looking flustered. Ian pretended he didn't feel how his heart flutter. 'Did you catch any sleep last night?' He asked softly and moved closer. 

'Probably I napped for a bit. I was watching some action film when I felt really tired and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, the credits were scrolling down.' Mickey's eyes were still glued to the floor as it was the most interesting thing in the world, and he blindly took a step back, when Ian got too close. Did his breath hitch, or Ian just imagine it? 

'Good.' Ian nodded and shifted on his feet. He could feel the tension in the air. 'I'm starving. I'm going to make scrambled eggs.' He announced airily and clapped his hands together. 'You want some?' Mickey's head jerked up at the man's last question, a look of confusion, hope, and fear all mixed together passed through man's face. 

'I don't think I can.' He finally responded quietly. 

'Do you feel hungry?' Ian asked in a soft voice, his eyes warm and encouraging. 

'Probably.' Mickey shrugged and knocked the side of his nose with a fist. 'Yea, I think so.'

'So, let's give it a try.' Ian said with a beaming smile. 'As you said. A trial and error method.' Ian noticed a small smile tugging at the corners of Mickey's lips before he ducked his head down. Wasn't he adorable? 

Ian passed by him and made his way into the kitchen. With ease, he removed the all needed ingredients and dishes and began to cook. Mickey joined him in and sat down at the small table for two, from where he kept observing Ian, his fingers tapping in the familiar rhythm known only by him. 

Once the breakfast was ready, Ian brought a plate full of steaming scrambled eggs and toasts and two forks. Mickey licked his lips involuntarily as he took in at the food displayed in front of him. 

'Dig in.' Ian encouraged him and bit down on the toast. 

'I don't think I can pick up a fork.' Mickey said a flash of disappointment hit his eyes. 'Remember marble balls?' 

'Yea, shit. Forgot about that.' Ian muttered, suddenly feeling like an idiot. 'You can always try to use your hands. I don't really mind. It's not like they're dirty.' Mickey snorted amused, his hands hovered over the steaming plate. He is disappointed to find out he can't feel any warmth on his palms. 'You can take the other toast.' Ian offered, but Mickey was already deeply focused on the eggs. He almost could see himself grabbing a handful of them and popping into the mouth. They'd taste good, he's sure of that. The smell is incredible. 

Or maybe he's just starving and anything that resembles food smells good enough for him. 

Suddenly Ian's breath hitched, and Mickey realized that indeed his fingers pick up pieces of scrambled eggs. He frowned surprised, and couldn't stop himself from smiling in victory. He didn't know how, but it worked. Without a second thought, he quickly shoved the eggs into his mouth. 

Ian was beaming back at him, and he felt so damn proud of himself. Until he took the first taste of food or rather felt the lack of it. Ian's smile faded when Mickey's face scrunched in disgust. Before he could ask what's wrong, the man spits everything out on the table. 

'Fuck, was it too hot?' Ian quickly asked with a worried face and scrambled to his feet in search of glass and water. 'I know, I'm not the best cook...'

'It's not like that.' Mickey sighed heavily and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Sit down, Orphan Annie, and finish your breakfast.'

'Then what's wrong?' Ian asked when he obediently returned to his seat with a frown. 

'I can't feel it.' Mickey replied shortly, with a mix of disappointment and anger written over his face. 'It has no taste, whatsoever. I could eat a piece of paper, and I wouldn't tell a difference!' He continued with a growl. 'I can smell it and I'm hungry, but I cannot fucking eat!' 

'It'll pass at some point.' Ian shrugged as nothing happened. Mickey was glowering back at him. 

'How can you know that hmm? You're a ghost specialist, now?' Mickey snapped at him, the anger getting the better of him. He shoved hands into the pocket of his jeans and growled when he took them back empty as always. Ian could see a pattern there and probably would ask Mickey about that if he wasn't getting angry himself. 

'Okay, maybe that wasn't a good idea.' Ian said, trying to keep his emotions at bay. 'But I am only trying to help you.' 

'You think that helped me?' Mickey pointed at the plate with a raised eyebrows. Ian gritted his teeth together. 

'You don't have to be such a dick about that. I know as much as you!' He snapped back and pulled back from the table. 'I'm trying to help!' He repeated through clenched teeth, his chin pulled up.

'What for? It's not your problem.' Mickey sat with arms crossed against the chest, his posture all defensive and hostile.

'You're in my house, of course, it's my fucking problem, too!' Ian exclaimed and threw hands in the air. 'I don't want to get stuck with you for fuck knows how many years.'

'So, you just want to get rid off me? I see now, what do you mean by saying you want to help me.' 

'Stop putting words into my mouth, Mickey! I  _ really  _ want to help you understand what's going on. I don't know how to do it yet, but I'm gonna try.' Ian said firmly with a jaw set. 'So stop acting like an ungrateful asshole.' In seconds Mickey was on his feet and pushing himself into Ian's personal space in intimidating posture. 

'What did you just call me?' Ian barked a short, sardonic laugh, couldn't believe what he sees. 'What, a cat gets your tongue?' He taunted with a sneer. 

'Or what, Mickey? You're going to bust my nose?' Ian asked with an ironic smile. 'You already forgot what happened last night?' Mickey clenched his teeth and hands and growled in frustration. 'Okay, big guy. Show me what you have! I'm looking out for having some fun.' Mickey was ready to lurch at him when someone starts banging at the front door. Both men turned toward the source of the noise. 

'Are you going to answer that?' Mickey asked him with a raised eyebrow when the banging continued and Ian didn't make a move. Ian flipped him a bird and cautiously walked to the front door.

'Ian, I know you're in there! Open the door or I'll kick it out!' Ian didn't want to see in practice if Deb – a teenage soon-to-be-mother on her third trimester, and a walking tornado who can destroy anything on her path while she's on rage – could actually kick his door off the hinges. The sensible part of him says it wasn't possible, while  _ Gallagher's _ part of him screams that's Deb and with her everything is possible. She's Gallagher after all. 

He opened the door and took a step back when Debbie pushed violently at the door and almost hit him square on the face. She stormed inside the apartment with flushed cheeks and unruly looking hair, a heavy-looking leather bag draped over her right shoulder. 

'Fiona wanted me to check on you.' She said for the welcome and began rummaging through her bag. 'Your neighbor, Mrs Allison something, called her last night and said something was going in your apartment.' 

'And hello to you, too.' He muttered and closed the front door with a growl. 'Nothing was going on last night. Tell Fiona to stop sticking her nose into my business.' 

'Would you prefer if she called cops? She didn't do it only thanks to Fiona.' Debs said and looked up from the bag. She gasped loudly as she took in his face. 'Oh my God, Ian! What happened to your face?! Someone hit you?' 

'No one hit me. I stumbled over the coffee table.' He lied without a blink. 'That's what Mrs Allison had to heard last night.' 

'It doesn't look like that.' Debbie countered, hands strategically places on her hips in Fiona's fashion. 

'But that's what happened.' He said firmly, his chin jut. 

'She said she heard you screaming.' 

'You'd scream too if you look like me.' Ian pointed at his jaw. 'It hurt badly.' Debbie's eyes softened and she smiled sadly. 

'You're in one piece? Nothing broke?'

'Just a few bruises and swollen tongue.' He shrugged off. 'Does it look so bad?' With the corner of his eye, he saw Mickey standing in the doorway, watching them curiously. 

'Yea.' Debbie sighed with a wince and reached out to her bag again. 'Don't worry, I have somewhere my concealer. I'll show you how to use it and you can put it before you go to work. It should cover most of your bruises.' Ian and Mickey both cringed when Debbie continued her rambling. 

'Who's that?' The man asked with a pulled out face.

'My sister.' Ian murmured without thinking. Debbie's head snapped back, a frown marring her forehead. 

'What did you just say?' She was looking behind his back, but just like Ian thought, she couldn't see Mickey. 

'That I don't need it.' Ian said and shifted nervously on his feet. 'I won't put any makeup on my face.' 

'You prefer to have everyone staring at you, instead?' 

'I'll put on a scarf.' Debbie rolled her eyes at him and clapped her bag closed. 

'Whatever. Fiona wants you to come over for dinner on Saturday. It's a family meeting.' 

'I'll be there.' Ian promised. He was aware they need to discuss their options about how to keep their house and what to do if everything else fails. 

'Good.' She nodded. 'Okay, I'm heading off for my doctor's appointment. I'll tell Fiona you're alright and we'll see each other on Saturday. If you forget, you're dealing with Fiona on your own.' She warned him. 

'How's the baby?' Ian asked softly, his eyes moved to Debbie's belly. 

'Frannie is all good. I just need to do the usual check-up. Nothing to worry about.' She shrugged with a fond smile, her hand rested atop her belly. 

'So, it's a girl, huh? And Frannie? Ian asked surprised. He knew she was probably the only Gallagher that cared about Frank, but still, he wouldn't think she'd call her child after him. Frank was a piece of shit, a parasite, and yet Debbie loved him. Even if he hurt her the most of all of his kids. 

'After Frank.' Debbie responded shyly. Ian didn't elaborate on the subject. It was Debbie's choice, and he was more than sure she already had heard her share from Fiona and Lip. 

'Sweet.' He offered her a small smile. Debbie in return was beaming with happiness. 

'Thanks, Ian.' She said quietly, and Ian knew that what she meant is that she's grateful he's not trying to persuade her to choose a different name for her kid. He just accepted her decision. 'Well, I have to go. But I see you on Saturday!' And with that, she stormed out of the flat as quickly as she had come in. Ian sighed heavily and rested his forehead against the front door. 

'A family meeting, huh?' Ian glanced reluctantly at Mickey, still feeling angry at him. 

'I'm going to make a coffee and then I have things to do. Do whatever you want.' Ian snapped briskly and passed by the man without a second look. He heard Mickey snort.

'Good, I watched your damn freckles face for far too long, anyway.' Mickey snapped and Ian heard him stomp away. Ian switched the coffee express on and tried to occupy his mind with anything else, but not Mickey. He pretended he didn't notice a hint of sadness and hurt coloring Mickey's last words. 


	4. The fragile ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all kudos and comments :) You're the best.

After the quarrel with Mickey, Ian spent most of the day in his bed – browsing through web pages on his laptop and playing with his new smartwatch he finally has found on his desk, wrapped in a small parcel with a red bow on top of it. Mickey kept his distance and judging by the sounds coming from the living room he spent at least half of the day playing with the marble balls. At some point, Ian couldn't stand the sounds of marbles rolling over the floor and he plugged in his earbuds and put on loud music. 

He wouldn't give him satisfaction to get under his skin. 

He spent the next hour texting idly with Marcy until he dozed off. When he woke up again, it was already getting dark outside, and his stomach was growling reminding him it was time for dinner. He unplugged his earbuds and stretched his legs and arms out. He hissed when his bare feet touched something very cold. He popped himself into sitting position and frowned when his eyes rested at the figure lying at the end of the bed, curled at his feet like a dog. 

Ian quickly pulled his feet back. Mickey was asleep, curled into a ball, a frown marring his face. He's mumbling softly under his breath, the eyeballs moving behind his eyelids. He was dreaming. He looked so soft and small, and Ian felt like his anger at the man just flew out of the window. He unwrapped the earbuds from around his neck and moved around the bed until he sat down at the end of it. On instinct, he reached out his hand wanting to rake it through Mickey's hair to see if they're so soft as they seemed. Instead of a feeling of black locks curling around his fingers, he felt as he dipped his hand into the bucket with icy water. He quickly withdrew it with a wince, cursing his stupidity. 

'Are you done staring at me?' Ian almost got a heart attack, when Mickey spoke up without warning. Thankfully he had his eyes still closed so he couldn't see a blush forming on Ian's high-cheeks and neck. 

'Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up.' He mumbled flustered and bit down on his low lip as his eyes kept raking around other man's form. 'I didn't expect t – what are you doing here?' 

'Trying to get some sleep.' Mickey replied as it was the most normal thing to do. And probably it 'd be, if Mickey was by any standards a living, breathing being. 

'That I can see, but why on my bed?' He asked with a frown. Why with me, is what he wanted to ask, but decided against it. 'You have a couch.' 

'It's not comfy enough.' He retorted and rolled on his back. His eyes finally opened and his gaze locked with Ian's. 'You should change the couch. That thing sucks.' He groused. 

'You're a ghost, it's not like you can feel any pain.' 

'I might surprise you, ghost expert.' Mickey said back looking him dead into the eye. 'My neck and back hurt like a bitch.' He licked his lips and moved to the sitting position with a slight groan. 'Found anything useful, when you were bitching cooped in your room all day long?' He asked with that eat-shitting smirk on his face. 

'Fuck you, is what I found.' Ian snapped back, the man getting on his nerves again. 

'You wish.' Mickey snorted and Ian sucked on his breath. Ian can be damned, but even if the man was turning into an infuriating asshole, he'd still want to fuck him. He was hot, and he couldn't deny it. He was only hoping, Mickey wouldn't notice his growing interest. 'So, that's your help, huh? Can't say I was counting for more -' The cheeky bastard droned out. 

'We could go through some pictures.' Ian suddenly offered as he recalled the posts he had read on some forum. 'Pictures of my neighbourhood. I read it helps people get their memory back.' Ian explained when Mickey shot him a look of confusion. 'If you're from Southside, you might recognise some of the places.'

'Don't they use this method on people with brain damage?' Mickey asked with a scrunched face.

'Well, you sound like you have amnesia, so...' Ian stared back at him with a pointed look. 

'So, now I'm a ghost with brain damage? Cool, good to know.' Mickey said sarcastically and thumbed his nose. Ian rolled his eyes. 

Ian moved around the bed and sat down with his legs crossed and pulled a laptop on his knees. He opened it and pat the space on his right. 

'Come on, Mickey. At least we might know if you're actually from Southside.' 

'I'm coming, alright! Stop patting like you were calling a fucking dog.' He groused and Ian couldn't help but smile. 

'Not my fault you slept like one. You were giving me the wrong impression.' Mickey glared at him and flickered him a bird before he finally settles on Ian's right, close enough to be able to see the screen, but far enough to not let their bodies touch. 'You ready?' Mickey nodded and Ian began to scroll down the pictures. 

'It looks familiar.' Mickey said fifteen minutes later, his eyes locked on the picture showing dugouts.

'Really?' Ian asked, his eyes lit up in excitement. 'Do you remember any details?'

'I remember myself sitting on the bench. Smoking cigarettes. It was dark outside.' He said with a scrunched in concentration face. 'It doesn't have to be the same dugouts... But this one brings memories back.' Mickey shrugged and bit down on his thumbnail. 

'That's already something.' Ian said with a small smile. 'Anything else? Were you there with someone?'

''Was alone.' Mickey muttered, his eyes glued to the picture. 

'If you went there for a smoke at night, you probably have to live somewhere close by.' Ian reasoned and scratched on his chin. 'I have some old photographies at my old house. I could bring them when I'll go to see my siblings this Saturday.' Ian offered. 'Maybe you'll recognise any of the buildings or maybe some faces. Hell, we could be neighbours!' 

'I think you'd remember me if we were neighbours.' 

'I don't know all of my neighbours. It's possible we lived close by but were hanging around with different people. It's a shame I can't take a picture of your face.' 

'Aren't you a little too eager?' Ian turned to him with a questioning look. 'Because I remember some dugouts, it doesn't mean I lived in Southside.' Mickey said with a pointed look. 'Besides, I can't even tell if what I remember is true. Maybe I just projected this image.' 

'We can always go through other pictures of dugouts and see if they get the same reaction from you.' Ian suggested and quickly began typing on the laptop. 'Worth giving a try.' 

'You're a stubborn fucker.' Mickey muttered and moved closer so he could see better the screen. 

'Learning from the best.' Ian retorted, a cheeky grin splitting his face almost in half. 

**

On Saturday, Ian found himself sitting at the floor of his old room, rummaging through various boxes in search of his childhood photographies. So far he found a few from the time he has played in a Little League and some old picture of him and Debbie throwing a disc in the park. 

'What are you doing?' Ian jerked up and snapped his head around only to see Lip standing in the doorway with curious eyes and a cigarette dangling between his lips. 

'Searching for old photos.' Ian replied evasively and reached out for another box containing his old magazines and textbooks. 

'What for?' Lip smirked down at him and made his way to Ian's old bed and dropped on it. 'Got nostalgic, huh?'

'Just doing a small project.' He lied and he immediately hated himself for that. Back then when they were still kids their share everything – no lies, no secrets. They were more than brothers – they were best friends, always having each other backs. 

Now, those times were gone. And he's not sure whose fault it was. 

'What kind of project?' Lip kept nagging him as if he knew Ian was hiding something. And in fact, he probably does. There's no other person in his life who knows him better than Lip. He always knew straight away when Ian was lying. 

'Nothing interesting. Something for Trevor's kids.' He replied with the first thing that crossed his mind. 

'You and Trevor are still a thing?' Lip asked surprised. 

'No, we're not. Sometimes I just help him, that's all.' Ian mentally slapped himself for bringing Trevor up into the conversation and ran a hand through his hair. 'Can we change the topic?' The last thing he wanted right now is to be reminded about Trevor and his shenanigans. 

'Sure. So, how's it going? Everything alright with your flat?' So Fiona told him about Mrs Allison phone call. It should not surprise him. 

'Peachy.' Ian said with a fake smile and dropped his attention to another box cluttered with old winter clothes. 'The same as always.' If not counting his new ghost locator, who's probably throwing marble balls around the flat again. He swears he'd throw them out of the window if he slips on them once again. Ian has tried his best to encourage Mickey to find something else to play with, but he'd have more luck talking to the wall. Mickey was a stubborn bastard with a fixation on the marble balls and Ian had to live with that knowledge. 

Or at least until he comes up with a better solution to deal with the man. 

'You sure, you're fine? I heard you're acting a tad weird since that disaster with the ouija board.' Lip was staring at him with a worried face, his big eyes burning a hole in Ian's face. 

'Fiona told you?' He asked a tad too aggressive than it was needed, but recently his sister was getting on his nerves.

'Debs.' Oh. 'So, are you gonna tell me what's going on with you?' 

'It's nothing, Lip. I was just a little shaken with what happened to me that night, but I'm alright now. And yes, I'm taking my meds.' So far he has forgotten to take them only once when he has woken up with a throbbing tongue, bruised jaw, and a new addition to his flat. 

'You want me to believe you stumbled over the coffee-table?' Lip asked with that  _ don't fucking lie to my  _ face. And if the things would be different between two of them and he'd stop for a moment thinking about Ian being bipolar, he'd tell him about Mickey. Because, damn him, he wants so badly to tell someone about him and their struggle. He wants Lip to be that person, even if he knew the times they could share everything was gone. 

'I drank a couple of beers and lost my footing.' Ian lied because it was better this way. Blame his immaturity and recklessness – let them hear what Fiona and Lip wanted to hear. 

'Jesus, Ian. You're on meds, you shouldn't be drinking.' Lip scolded him, a familiar look of disappointment and worry written over his face. Ian could deal with that. It's not that like he sees anything else for the past few years. 

'You didn't oppose me when I was drinking that night.' Ian reminded him with jutted chin up. 

'You had only one beer, maybe two.' Lip said for his defence. Then his shoulders suddenly dropped and he sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. 'You're right, I shouldn't let you drank that night. I should know better, and I'm sorry.' 

'Don't be. I'm adult. I'm responsible for my decisions.' 

'You're not completely responsible, if you're...' Ian clenched his jaw, his face hardened. 'I mean...'

'You mean I'm sick and I can't take care of myself. Don't know what's good for me!' Ian finished for him with a snap, anger sipping through his words. 

'When you act like that, then yes, I think that!' Lip fired back. 

'Give me credit, will ya? I got a flat, a decent job...' 

'And what about Trevor, hmm? And Gay Jesus.' Lip countered back.

'I wasn't on my meds, and you know that!' 

'But you kept saying you had everything under control and that you took them!' Lip shouted angrily. 'Is it what are you doing, right now?' 

'No, it's isn't, and fuck you Lip!' Ian yelled back at him with a hurt written over his face. 'I'm trying my best to live normally!'

'I just don't want you to turn into Monica...' Lip said quietly with a pained look. 'We all don't want it.' And Ian suddenly couldn't be angry anymore. He could see the fear in his older brother's eyes as if he was staring back at Monica's personification. And he hates it. All of this. 

'There'd be always a part of her in me.' Ian reminded him in a hollow voice, his fingers idly playing with the seam of his old sweater. 

'I know. Just don't let this part control you, okay? You're better than her.' They stared at each other in contemplative silence, until Carl popped his head in. 

'Hey guys, Fiona wants us all to meet in the kitchen. The food's ready.' He announced, his eyes moving quizzically between his brothers. 'You alright?' 

'Yea, just reminiscing about old times.' Lip broke the silence as the first and moved up the bed. He threw a cigarette out the window. 'Come on, Ian. You'll finish your project later, we don't wanna Fiona barge in.' Ian reluctantly raised from the floor, his bones popped loudly, when he stretched his body. He followed his brothers out. 'What the fuck happened here?' Lip asked when his eyes roamed around the bathroom. Curious, Ian popped his head in and frowned at the mess inside. Towels and cosmetics were covering each space, two boards from the wall were ripped out and lied haphazardly around the floor. 

'We thought it was Frank, but we never caught him red-handed and besides, he's not always around.' Carl said with a shrug. 'It keeps going on like this for almost a month now.' 

'Keeps going?' Ian repeated. 

'Yea, it happens a couple of times a week, always when we're downstairs. It's always empty when we're getting here afterwards.'

'Strange.' Lip muttered and with a shook of his head continue his journey down the stairs. With the last look at the bathroom, both brothers followed him shortly. Fiona was already waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, grinning at them. 'By the way, your bathroom is a fucking mess.' Lip informed her kindly and moved to the kitchen along with Carl. 

'Not this shit again!' She growled frustrated, a scowl replacing her grin. 'It's Debs turn to clean up. I swear I'm gonna kill Frank when I get my hands on him.' 

'So, it's Frank's doing?' Ian asked curiously. 

'That's the only logical explanation, so yea.' She replied with a nod. 

'Carl said it's going on for a month. Why you didn't say a word?'

'I didn't want to worry you. Besides, what could you do about that?' She shrugged and smiled warmly at the man. She reached out and rested her hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. 

'Could try to sneak up on Frank or make a trap.' Ian offered with a lopsided smile. 

'No traps, ever again!' Fiona growled and smacked him heartily on the arm. 'I still remember the last time Carl left bear traps around the house. It's a fucking miracle no one loses any limbs.' 

'I could think up about something less lethal.' 

'There's no need. Besides, we'll be leaving in a few weeks, anyway.' Fiona smiled sadly, Ian's face falling. 

'We're not giving up, yet.' 

'I'm afraid this time we're out of options.' Fiona muttered and wrapped her arm around Ian's back. 'Come on, let's dig in before everything gets cold. Then we can talk.' Ian let his sister lead him to the table already occupied by the rest of Gallaghers.

Ian took his regular sit and smirked when the usual quarrel erupted between Lip and Debbie about some another trivial thing. Ian stayed silent and dig in into his portion of spaghetti. His thoughts wandered idly toward the familiar dark-haired thing with deep blue eyes and pouty lips rolling colourful marble balls around his apartment. 

**

When Ian returned to his flat, Mickey was already waiting for him. He was perched on one end of the couch, his knees bouncing excitedly, and he looked so giddy and not so usual-self, that Ian had to take a double-look on the man to make sure his eyes didn't deceive him. 

'Took you long enough!' Mickey called out from his place, a grin spread over his face, eyes shining like two Agate gems in the semi-dark apartment. Ian's breath slightly hitched and familiar warmness spread out from his chest. 'Come on, freckles, get your ass over there! I have to show you what I learnt!' Ian's lips involuntarily turned into a small smile. Excited Mickey was probably the cutest thing Ian has ever seen. 

'You've been playing with the marbles, again.' Ian sighed heavily as his eyes raked over the floor littered with the little balls. 

'Already told you, they're the best.' Mickey shrugged, still looking like an over-excited puppy. Ian shook his head at him and hanged his jacket. 'Come on! I can't fucking wait any longer!' He almost whined, and Ian hated himself for ruining the mood, but he was too – both physically and mentally – tired to do anything else but to drop dead on his bed. 

'Look, Mickey, can we postpone it for tomorrow's morning? I know you're excited about the whole thing...' Mickey's face fell in a second, his eyes lose their livid colour. Ian's heart clenched at the sight. 

'Nah, it's nothing.' Mickey snapped turning into familiar guarded stance, and Ian didn't think he could despise himself more. He has always been a shitty friend and a brother and now he could add a guardian to the list of things he fucked up in his life. 

Ian was immersed in his self-pity so much he didn't even notice when Mickey approached him and stood in front of him, his eyes searching his face. 

'What's wrong?' He asked him in a demanding tone that only Fiona uses on him, his expressive eyebrows raised questioningly. 

'Nothing's wrong. Just tired. I didn't sleep well for the past few days.' He replied evasively, his eyes stuck on the green marble ball at his feet. 

'That's why you're wallowing in the pity party?' As usual, Ian wanted to disagree, but then he made a mistake of raising his head and his eyes met with Mickey's intensive blue orbs. He didn't have any clue how the man is doing this, but Ian couldn't find it in himself to lie to the other man. It was like Mickey could read his soul. Or maybe Ian was looking so miserable anyone could tell there was something wrong with him. 

'We're probably going to lose my childhood house in a month time, as we didn't figure out how to get the money to keep it... And I fought with my older brother, Lip.' He finally muttered and winced slightly, when Mickey looked at him with something close to pity, his blue eyes softened. 

'What did you fight about?' Mickey asked in a soft voice as if sensing that his fight with Lip was the thing that was gnawing him and put him into a miserable state. 

'He doesn't think I can take care of myself.' He replied reluctantly and kicked the marble at his feet. It moved through Mickey's shoes and disappeared under the bookcase. Ian wished he could do the same. 

'Really?' Mickey snorted. 'Besides being an irritating shit, you seem pretty much capable of taking care of himself. From where did it come from? There has to be a reason he brought it up.' Mickey inquired, not the one to be fooled around. He was too observant for his good, Ian decided, close to fuming. 

'I'm bipolar.' Ian finally blurted out and began to pace back and forth, hands raking through his hair messing them up. 'It's an illness, that at times pushes me to do very questionable things, that normally I wouldn't do.' He continued at Mickey's questioning gaze. 'If I'm not medicated I have mood swings and it's really bad. I can't take proper care of myself... I'm manic.' He stopped and looked down at the floor. 

'So that for the little pills, you take every day.' Mickey mused and Ian is surprised that the man had noticed it. 'But if you take them, why he's worried about you?' 

'I need to twitch my medication from time to time. I can still go maniac, even if I take my pills. There are a lot of things that can trigger it... I learnt that playing with the ouija board in front of your family is one of them.' He said in a huff. 'If I tell them about you, they'd think I go crazy and they'd lock me up, again. And your presence here is not making it easier for me.' He admitted with a long sigh, his eyes stared blankly at Mickey. 'I don't blame you, it's not your fault you're here.' 

'But I don't help you.' Mickey finished his thought for him. 

'No, you don't.' Ian whispered and shuffled at his feet. 'Lip and others caught on it and now they're pestering over me. Thinking I don't take meds or that I need to change a dose... It'd be easier if I could tell them about you.' 

'You never know. They may believe you.' Mickey said with a small shrug. 'Whatever shit happened during the ouija crap, they had to see it, too.' 

'Still, they wouldn't believe me.' Ian shook his head with the same sad expression. 'I already used to see things that didn't exist. They were only in my head, but I was so damn sure they were real.' He looked down at his hands, as his voice broke down. 'I almost killed Debs with a baseball bat.' If Sean hadn't reached him on time... Ian didn't want to think about it. Tears blurred his vision. 

'Hey, but you didn't. And you're both good, right? That's the ginger that came by the other day, yea?' Ian nodded and risked a glance up at Mickey's face. His heart stuttered at the man's soft, welcoming smile. 'I bet she doesn't even think about it, while you're still beating yourself over this. She's alright and she looks like someone who knows how to take a shit. Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd swing you back with that bat.' 

'A hurricane Deb.' Ian muttered and couldn't help himself from mustering a crooked smile. Mickey grinned back at him. 

'Now, when we settled down some things, you can go and get some eye-shut. In the meantime, I'd try to find something interesting to occupy my time.' 

'Thanks for giving me permission.' Ian said sarcastically, with an amused lilt to his voice. 

'You're welcome, bitch.' Mickey flipped him off with no fading smirk and plopped down on the couch. Ian shook his head at the man, a small chuckle left his mouth.

'So, see you in the morning, so you can show me off your ghost-tricks.' 

'Those ghost-tricks will make you jealous, man. You wish you could learn them.' 

'Yea, yea, whatever.' Ian dismissed him with a wave of the hand and trotted toward his bedroom. He was about to close the door behind himself when Mickey's small voice reached his ears.

'Just for the reckoning. I'm real.' 


	5. Making friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who read this story so far :)

Ian Gallagher couldn't keep a secret. 

And that was a widely known fact. 

Like any other Gallagher in their family, Ian couldn't keep his mouth shut for far too long without spilling the beans to at least one person. He liked to blame on a defective gene passed down Gallagher's generations because it's not exactly something he'd pick up from home, right? He doubted that even Liam was capable of keeping a secret for longer than a day. 

The Saturday's fight with Lip made him realize that he needed to share his burden, or he'd just lose his mind. Mickey was always at the back of his head, nagging him twenty-four hours a day. And what worried him the most is the fact of how quickly he became attached to the man and how guilty he feels whenever he had to leave him. He was constantly thinking about Mickey and his whereabouts, and his sudden feelings scared him. 

He needed to do something about that. 

Ian made his mind around lunchtime, deciding it was now or never. He found Mickey in the living room in front of the bookcase, his blue eyes seizing up his newfound obsession – a very thick volume of the encyclopedia. Ian rolled his eyes amused and couldn't help but snort. Mickey's gaze quickly flickered to his face, eyebrows raised questioningly. 

'Nothing.' Ian mumbled, an amused smile playing on his lips. Since Mickey became an adept in picking up and throwing marble balls around the flat, he decided he needed a new challenge. Ian has made it clear he's not permitted to play with the vase, plates, and bowls, so after a bit of sulking and series of half-hearted threats, Mickey decided to try the books instead. 'You're getting better with your ghost-tricks.' 

'I have to occupy my mind with something so I won't be distracted.' Mickey said back with a small shrug, his fingers of a right hand hovering over the cover of the encyclopedia. 

'You're being distracted? With what?' Ian inquired, his interest piqued. A sudden rush of warmness spreading over his body. 

'With scents, feelings.' Mickey recited in a bored voice. 'Things you know.' He cast a glance at Ian and his eyebrows knitted together. 'You're going somewhere?' 

'For lunch.' The man said with a sheepish smile and looked away. Mickey's face fall. He looked so sad it made Ian's heart clench. 

'I thought you're going to spend Sunday with me.' He said in a small voice, his fist-bumped the side of his nose. 'Helping me, you know.'

'I know. I'll do it once I get back. I promise.' Ian assured him with an earnest expression. He wished he could spend the Sunday with him; watch some crappy show on TV or just hang out on the couch and try to figure out the way to bring Mickey's memories back. They – well, in practice only Ian – could cook the lunch together and Mickey could show off his new tricks. It'd be a good way to spend the Sunday if only his treacherous mind could understand that. 

'It's so fucking boring being here on my own.' Mickey admitted softly without looking him in the eye and Ian knew that what he meant is  _ I like to have you around,  _ and Ian's treacherous heart flutter. 'You promised we'd go through the pictures you brought yesterday.' 

'Tonight. I promise.' 

'You make a fucking lot of promises, Red. It'd be nice if you keep half of them.' Mickey snapped angrily, his hand pushing into the pocket of his jeans. A quiet  _ fuck  _ left the man's lips as he snapped it back, the mix of dismay and irritation written over his face. 

'That's one of the reasons I have to go out, now. I promised Marcy I'll spend some time with her.' Maybe Ian wasn't entirely honest with him, but he didn't lie. He indeed has promised Marcy they'd grab lunch someday and chill out afterward. 

'Oh.' Ian frowned at the sudden change in Mickey's face. He looked crestfallen, his eyes moving rapidly around the room. He was looking everywhere, but not on Ian. 'Whatever. Have fun.' He snapped, his face melted into the familiar guarded look, and he brought his attention back to the books. Ian breathed deeply through the nose. 

'Why do you have to be like this, Mickey?' Ian asked confused with the man's swinging moods. 'I have a life outside this apartment... I need to see other people too.'

'Alive people.' Mickey muttered with a sneer, his eyes trained on the books. 

'Yes, Mickey.' He snapped back irate, the chin jutted up. 'I can't put away my whole damn life, because you came out of nowhere, demanding my attention. There are other people I care about, too.' Mickey's head snapped toward him, eyes burning with anger. 

'Did I ever say I don't want you to see anyone? Did I ever tell you to not do something you want?' He demanded. 

'No, but you always try to make me feel guilty.' 

'That's your problem, not mine. You were the one that keeps pushing me to try to get my memories back. You gave me the hope, promised you'd help me. And I believed you and now I want these things to work, alright?! I want to understand who I am and what I am doing here!' Mickey shouted, managed to pick up one of the heavy-looking books, and threw it in Ian's direction. The redhead duck in time and the book landed on the floor with a loud tap. Mickey growled in frustration and stormed out of the room through the wall separating the living room from the bedroom, aware how redhead hated when he was doing this. 

'Not only a ghost but Drama Queen, too.' Ian muttered under his breath and grabbed his jacket before he stormed out from the flat. 

Marcy was waiting for him in the park at one of the picnic tables scattered over the small patio made of pebbles. On her laps were two bags full of Japanese – Marcy's new favorite – takeaway food. She smiled brightly at him and once he settled down, she handed him a bag. Ian shrugged off his jacket – it was quite a warm October day; the sky was blue and clear and there was no wind. They dig in into their food, making small talk about how they have spent their weekend and who have pissed them at work, again. Despite the bright smiles and cheerful voice, Ian knew Marcy was ogling him like a hawk, knowing him well enough there has to be some reason he'd has asked for lunch on short notice and has insisted they'd eat somewhere in private. He was sure his decline to meet at his apartment has to switched the warning bell in Marcy's brain. It was just a matter of time before she attacks. 

That time comes just after they finished their meals and Ian has licked the remains of soya sauce off his fingers. 

'Okay, what's wrong, Ian?' She finally asked him in that serious tone, right after Ian rolled the napkin into the ball and tossed it to the nearest bin. 'Spit it out.' Ian hunched over the table, his long fingers playing idly with chopsticks. His eyes locked with Marcy's dark ones. 

It was now or never. 

'Do you trust me?' He asked in a small voice, mentally preparing himself how to deliver the news to his friend. 

'Of course, I do.' Marcy replied immediately, her hand reached out for Ian's. Her manicured fingers wrapped tightly around his left knuckle. 'What's wrong? You know you can tell me everything.' She told him in that earnest voice which always managed to melt Ian's all-defensive walls. 

'I – I lied to you.' Ian said after a short pause, his eyes moving down to the chopsticks in his hands. 'About that night with the Ouija board,' he licked his lips nervously, knee bouncing under the table. 'Something happened that night.'

'I just knew it! You acted so weird for the past couple of days.' Marcy sighed heavily and rested her face on her free hand. 'So, do you have nightmares? Do you think about tweaking your medication? I can go to the doctor with you.' She offered as always. 

'It's not like that.' Ian sighed heavily and scratched his chin. 'Something else happened that night. It changed me.' He said in a whisper, his teeth worrying his lip. 

'Changed you?' Marcy repeated in a low voice, her face marred with a frown. 'Changed you how?'

'I'm not sure, I just see things that I shouldn't see -' Marcy's eyes widened at his last statement. 

'Okay, I'm taking you to doctor first thing in the morning.' She decided, before Ian had a chance to finish his sentence, and grabbed her purse at the same time she raised from her seat. 'You'll stay at my place, tonight. You can't suffer on your own, Ian.' She smiled sadly. 

'No, Marcy, wait you don't understand!' Ian sputtered nervously, his eyes wide in panic. 'I don't have hallucinations!' 

'Sweetie, I know, you hated it when you have no control over your body, but -' 

'It's not that, Mickey's different. He's real! I know he is!' Marcy had frozen on the spot. 'It's not a hallucination!' 

'Who's Mickey?' She asked confused, her eyebrows drew together. 'And what's he got to do with all this?' 

'He's the guy from that night. You know, the one I thought was an escort.' He blurted out and winced at the way Marcy's face frozen in the sheer horror. She slumped down on her seat. 

'Jesus, Ian, I thought we already established he's a burglar! She snapped at him, a look of disappointment crossed her face. 

'He's not a burglar!' Instead, of offering her a calm explanation, Ian suddenly saw red and snapped back. She had no right to call Mickey a burglar. 

'Because he told you so? When he returned, you should call the police, not having a chat with him!' Marcy was furious, her hands clenched tightly around her purse. 'I don't believe how reckless you can be, Ian! Do you know anything about him? Where does he live now?'

'In my apartment.' He replied nonchalantly with arms crossed against his chest. If Marcy's eyes could kill, Ian will be dead by now. 'Look, Marcy, let me explain this before you get the wrong impression. I should start from the beginning -' 

'You should start by calling the cops.' Marcy chimed in with a hard face. 'Now, Ian.'

'Marcy, no, listen, -' 

'No more buts! Call the cops, before I'll do it. I don't know what he said to you, but he just used the moment when you were in your  _ fragile  _ state.' It made his blood boil. 

'I'm not fragile!' Ian snapped hotly, his hands curling in fists. 'Don't put a blame on my illness!'

'We'll see tomorrow when you meet with your doctor.' Marcy said firmly and grabbed a phone from her purse. 'Now, call the cops.' She ordered. He glanced down at the phone in Marcy's outstretched hand and couldn't help but snorted with something akin to amusement. 

'They'd think we're nuts.' He could already imagine their faces. 

'And why is that?' She asked with a challenge in her eyes. 

'They wouldn't be able to see him.' He retorted with a smirk. 

'Ian, what the fuck are you talking about? I swear...' 

'He's a ghost, Marcy. Mickey is a  _ ghost _ .' In seconds Marcy's anger melted into worry and confusion. 

'Ian, that's not possible.' She said slowly, her eyes staring intently into his as if she was trying to gauge his reaction. Maybe she thought he was joking or maybe she was searching for the evidence he was losing his shit completely. 

'Debbie visited me and she didn't see him, though he was standing right there!' He shook his head once he caught the familiar look on Marcy's face. 'No, I'm not losing my mind. You were that night at our house and saw what happened. The crystal, this  _ something  _ that crushed me against the wall. It has done something to me.' He pointed to his chest. 'It changed me. And I can prove it to you, that Mickey is not part of my imagination. You have to go to my place. I'll show you.'

'You said no one else can see him.' She reminded him in a quiet voice.

'You can't, but I can prove it he's there. He knows the tricks. You just need to trust me, okay? You said you do, Marcy.' He said in a strained voice, scared that he's about to lose the last person who he can truly call a friend. 'I know you believe in crap like that. You believe in voodoo and that your aunt's house was haunted.'

'It's different.' She stuttered. 

'No, it's not. Look, Marcy, if you don't believe me no one else would. I only have you and I need you. Damn, even Mickey needs you.' Marcy bit down on her low lip and stared at him with an unreadable face for the few long moments. The worst-case scenarios crossed Ian's mind. He's not sure how is he going to cope if Marcy turns her back on him. He thought he's going to burst in tears, the tension in the air so unbearable when Marcy finally spoke up. 

'Fine, I'll go with you.' Ian straightened up, eyes lightened up in sheer excitement and hope. She won't leave him. 'But you have to explain to me  _ everything _ . From the beginning.' She said firmly 

'That I can do.' Ian said and took a deep breath before he began his story. 

**

Marcy was being cautious. She slipped into the flat on a leisure pace instead of barge in as she has used to do, and carefully looked around the living room as if it was her first time here. Ian sighed heavily through his nose.

'He won't jump on you, you know.' He said and almost rolled his eyes when Marcy jumped at the sound of his voice. Marcy shot him a glare, her hand tightened harder around the purse strap. When the man smirked at her, she returned her gaze to the rest of the room and took in every detail. 'Marcy, he's a ghost. You wouldn't find his things scattered around the flat.' He chided knowing full enough what the woman was looking for. Marcy growled in frustration.

'I haven't decided yet what to think about it.' She muttered. 'But I'm here to give you a chance. I didn't lie when I said I trust you.' She added once she noted the way Ian's eyebrows drew together in annoyance and he opened his mouth, ready for a fight. 'No matter how insane does it sound.' 

'Good. If you're ready then I'll call Mickey to come over.' Ian announced airily and Marcy reluctantly nodded her head. Ian shouted in the direction of his bedroom for Mickey. The man appeared almost immediately – Ian's skin crawls again when Mickey nonchalantly walked through the door – looking like he has spent the majority of the time Ian hasn't been here on sulking, his bright blue eyes shooting daggers. Ian was kind of hoping he'd find Mickey in better humor – that he will be happy that he's back. 

But then Ian reminded himself Mickey's not a dog, and they haven't split up on good terms either. Mickey was a stubborn bastard and Ian got a feeling he knew how to hold a grudge against someone. 

Ian wondered idly if it was a good idea to bring Marcy today. 

'Hey Mickey...' He called him in an octave too high voice he gets whenever he's nervous, a fake smile plastered to his lips. The man leveled him with a hard look, clearly unimpressed. 

'Spare me this shit and get to the point. I have things to do.' Mickey snapped again and began to move toward the couch until his eyes caught the glimpse of Marcy hidden behind Ian's body. He stopped dead on the track, his eyes moved frantically between Ian and an unfamiliar woman, who was staring at the redhead with a concerned look on her face. 'What's going on?' He demanded. 

'Mickey, this is Marcy. I wanted to - ' Mickey's eyebrows raised in surprise and he eyed the woman with growing curiosity. 

'She's black.' Mickey suddenly said with a taken-aback face, a frown marring his face. 

'Actually, she's Afro-American.' Ian muttered back and shifted his eyes away when Marcy turned toward him with a scowl. 

'Did I just get insulted by a ghost?' She asked with a frown and crossed arms against her chest. Her gaze hardened as her eyes roamed around the area Mickey was standing. 

'I meant no offense, I don't mind she's black or whatever.' Mickey said with raised hands, his eyebrows skyrocketing. 'I'm just kind of surprised. I thought your girlfriend will be more like a girl from next door type.' 

'She's not my girlfriend!' Ian sputtered with slightly pink cheeks. 'She's just a friend.' Mickey licked his lips and thumbed the side of his nose. 'Not as a  _ friend  _ friend.' He blushed furiously under Marcy's scrutinizing eyes. 

'Alright, I get it, don't get your knickers in a twist. Jesus. As if I'm giving a fuck who you screw.' Mickey said hotly, hands dropping to the pockets of his jeans. As if it wasn't enough, Marcy was practically in Ian's face, a scowl twisting her face. 

_ 'Really, _ Ian?' Marcy scoffed at the redhead in disbelief and Ian felt himself blush even harder. 

'Don't know what are you talking about.' He muttered through clenched teeth, hoping Mickey wouldn't hear them. She sent him a look full of disapproval that Ian ignored with premeditation. She knew shit. 

'Okay, in one thing you were right, Ian. There's no way you could imagine all of this. Even if you have a second personality, what I was afraid might be a case, it couldn't be a racist. You're too sweet for this shit.' Marcy said with a scrunched nose, her stance loosened up. 'At least I don't think it's possible.' 

'I'm not a racist!' Mickey yelled flustered. 

'Look, Marcy, he's not a racist -' Ian quickly said noticing the signs in Mickey's frantic behavior that could only lead to the very  _ unpleasant _ culmination. 

'So they always say so.' She snorted and arched her eyebrow at him. 'So, you're having a racist, and I bet, a homophobic ghost living in your apartment. My congratulations, Ian. Don't think anyone else could pull out something like that.' She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. 'Or maybe Debbs was right and you were cursed? If it's not paranoia speaking through you. I still didn't see any evidence of his existence yet.' She reminded him drily at the same time as Mickey violently pushed the vase with marble balls on the floor. It crashed into dozens of pieces, the balls rolled in every direction. Marcy screamed in panic and jumped back with a hand pressed to her chest. Ian stared at the man with the agape mouth. 

'Happy now?!' Mickey yelled through the heavy pants, his eyes shooting daggers at Ian as if it was his fault.

'Calm down, Mickey! She's here to help me and you. That's the only reason I brought her here and told her about you.' Ian snapped, having enough of Mickey's childish behavior. 'Trust me, Mick, it's not easy to tell people that there's a ghost living in their apartment! And I can't even phantom how happy and grateful I am that Marcy listened up to everything that I said and trust me enough to not freak out and believe that yes, you fucking exist, Mickey. And I'm not crazy. She's the only person that keeps my back. Always. And I trust her.' He wasn't even aware tears were streaming down his face until he felt Marcy's warm hand wiping his cheek. 'And I need you to trust me and her.' 

'Breath, Ian.' Marcy said softly, a warm smile spread over her face as her hand kept caressing his cheek. 'You need to calm down.' He ran a hand across his face and wiped the remains of tears. 

The rattle-roll sound. 

Marcy squeezed tightly his hand, her nails digging painfully into the skin. For a moment she stopped breathing, her eyes wide as she took in the scene played on their feet. Ian looked down. Mickey was kneeling on the hard floor, moving the marble balls around cautiously until he creates the five letters;  _ hello.  _

'Holy shit...' Marcy whispered in a shaking voice and slumped down on the couch. Mickey raised his head, his features soft and gentle, and caught Ian's eyes. The kaleidoscope of emotions reflecting in Mickey's blue eyes took Ian's breath away.  _ Guilt, fear, sorrow, pain.  _ Ian offered him a shaky smile, letting him now that he understands and forgives him. He wanted so badly to hold him. 

'Do you believe me, now?' Ian asked softly, never taking his eyes away from Mickey. The man was breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed. Ian is sure he has never seen anyone so beautiful like him. 

'I guess so.' Marcy muttered back in a strained voice, her gaze roaming around the five letters. 'Hi. Mickey.' A nervous smile appeared on her face. 

'He waves to you.' Ian said with a crooked smile when Mickey waved shortly toward the woman with a shy smile. 

'Gosh, this is weird.' Marcy laughed shortly and ran a hand through her dark locks. 'But we'll make it work, right? It's better than at aunt's Sophie house, anyway.' She nodded without waiting for Ian's response. 'So, yes, we will.' 

'You want some water?' Ian offered amused. 

'Sure.' She nodded, a little strain still present in her voice. 

When Ian returned, Marcy looked much calmer, even though she was watching the marble balls move idly across the floor. Ian winked at Mickey and handed Marcy a glass of water. She immediately took a long swig. 

'You know, Marcy is a photographer.' Ian said once he slumped on the free space on the couch. 

'An amateur photographer, Ian.' Marcy immediately corrected him. 

'Is there a difference?' He asked and grin cheekily when Marcy glared back at him. 'Okay, fine. Still, she's really good.' He glanced toward Mickey playing idly with the marble balls. 

'And?' Mickey asked in a bored voice.

'Over the years she took plenty of pictures of our neighborhood.' Mickey's eyes perked up. 'She has a solid collection, don't you, Marcy?'

'You want me to bring all of them? That will be a few boxes, Ian.' She told him with a pointed look. 'Maybe we should divide them into a few parts.' 

'We could start from the buildings close to where I lived.' Ian suggested and continued after Marcy raised her eyebrow at him with a scowl. 'We just kind of figured out he could live close to where my family was. That's all.'

'We didn't. I just told you that some dugouts looked familiar.' Mickey disagreed with a frown. 

'That's enough evidence.' Ian stated and smiled brightly at Marcy. 'I'll just borrow one box for tonight. 

'Hey, that's not fucking fair! She can't even hear me.' Mickey complained. 

'Well, then you'll need to find some creative way to communicate with her. For now, I just have to speak on your behalf.' Ian smiled sweetly. 

'And tell her whatever you want, bitch.' 

'Life's not fair. Sorry.' Ian chuckled when Mickey flipped him a bird and fumed in his corner. 

'Are you two done?' Marcy asked with a roll of her eyes. 'We need to move, Ian, if you want anything for tonight. There are plenty of boxes I need to check before I find the photographs you need.' She said and put the empty glass on the coffee table. 

'Yea, sure. Let's go.' They both stood up in unison and began to walk toward the front door. 'You and Mickey can have a little chat next time.' With the corner of the eye, he noticed Mickey flipping him over again. Marcy didn't look impressed either. 

'I'm not so entirely sure for whom should I feel more sorry. For you or for him having to endure your  _ witty  _ remarks and shitty sense of humor.' She drawled and pushed by him to open the door.

'Hey!' Ian cried with a fake hurtful expression. 'You wound me.' Marcy only shrugged and walked away with a quick  _ bye Mickey,  _ thrown above her shoulder. 

'Ha, I think I'll like her.' Mickey said, a cheeky smirk playing on his lips. This time it was Ian who flipped him off. 

**

Late into the night, Ian found himself sitting cross-legged on his bed staring at Marcy's photographs scattered over the green comforter. Mickey was hovering behind his back, his chilling breath – Ian couldn't tell if he was breathing, or was it just the cold aura surrounding his persona – raising goosebumps over the skin of the back of his neck. Ian licked his suddenly dry lips and tried to refocus on the picture he was holding in hand. Mickey was such a nice distraction. 

And so dangerous. 

'So, do you know all of these places?' Mickey asked and shifted on his knees. He had complained earlier his knees have been killing him for sitting in the same position for too long and Ian hasn't know how to respond to that. He always thought that dead people feel nothing, especially not physical pain. Yet, Mickey insisted he could feel it. Ian wondered idly if it could be something akin to phantom's pain. Something that his subconscious remembered from the time he has been still alive. 

'Yep. Born and raised in the Southside.' Ian replied and picked up the old picture of their old church. 'So, anything rings a bell?' 

'Some of the places seem to look familiar.' Mickey shrugged and glanced at the picture of Ian's old house. 'I guess maybe I was there once.' 

'Then maybe we should take a look at the older stuff. Things changed over the years.' Ian suggested and reached out for another pile of photographs stuck in the box. 'I also have some school photos.' He looked around the bed, but couldn't find them. Maybe he left them in his jacket.

'What's this?' Ian glanced over his shoulder and the picture resting in front of Mickey's knees. He leaned closer and took a look at it. 

'Oh, that's a shop. Kash and Grab. I used to work there as a kid.' 

'Huh.' Mickey hummed non-committally, his eyes, a little widened, trained on the picture. 

'What?' Ian enquired with a raised eyebrow. 'You know it?'

'Something caught my eye, that's all. But no memories.' Mickey said a little too quickly as for Ian's taste. The redhead eyed him carefully sensing the man was hiding something from him. 'So, what about your school photos? I should recognize it if I lived here.' Ian reluctantly moved his eyes away and raised from the bed. 

'I think I left them in my jacket. I'll be back in a second.'

'Alright.' Ian turned in the doorway and frowned at Mickey watching the photograph with the familiar determined look on his face whenever he finds his new obsession. Ian wasn't sure if it's a good sign or a bad one. He decided he'll try to investigate the matter once he grabs the rest of the pictures. 

He quickly rushed across the living room and grabbed his jacket. He emptied the pockets and with triumphal smirk collected all pictures he has found. 

'I got them. Try not to laugh at my graduation picture.' Ian said airily once he returned to the bedroom. His smile dropped and he stopped dead on the track as he realized Mickey wasn't on the bed. He looked around but there was no sight of the man in the room. 'Mickey?!' He called out, feeling the rising panic. 

Ian dropped the pictures on the floor and frantically started to search for the man. He called his name, check the bathroom and the kitchen, but there was no sign of him.

Mickey was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be told from Mickey's POV. I think it's the right time to let Mickey voice what he thinks about the whole situation he found himself in ;)


	6. Down the rabbit's hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading, comments, and kudos :)

The familiar curtain of blackness swallowed him, his body disoriented and levitating in a nothingness. The flashes of faces and places bombarding his mind, a rush of intelligible whispers caressing his ears. Mickey scrunched his eyes tightly, praying to whatever Gods wielding the power of this place to end his suffering. Let him forget and be forgotten in that black void. 

But fate always loved to play with him. 

Something warm enveloped his body and some invisible power pulled him back. He was only half aware that his body was spin around so he's upside down when he suddenly started falling. Faster and faster. Mickey screamed. A bright light blinded him for a second until he closed his eyes tightly, wanting this to be over. 

At the full speed, he fell on something cold and hard. The impact of the collision so strong, he couldn't breathe. Mickey gasped, hands curling, nails digging into the skin as his body is hit with intense pain. He took a few deep breaths despite the almost unbearable pain in his chest, his mind involuntarily supplying him with familiar images. 

He thought about Ian and his fiery hair. His warm smile and a pair of smoldering green eyes looking down upon him. 

He's so bright and beautiful. 

The pain subsided. 

Mickey opened his eyes with a groan and blinked rapidly as the bright light hit his eyes. He shakily raised on his elbows and took in his surroundings. He was lying on the cold white-tiled floor, the heavy-looking racks packed with food at both sides. A gentle buzz coming from the overheated lights above his head. 

Mickey realized he was in the shop. 

He slowly moved to his knees and once he felt like he's stable enough to pull up his weight, he stood up on the slightly shaking legs. He wiped his sweaty hands over his jeans and took a nervous look around. He was in the middle of the aisle, with the fridges behind his back and counter on the front. He licked his lips and moved forward, his eyes frantically watching his surroundings as if he was expecting someone to jump on him.  _ As if that mattered, you're already dead –  _ the small voice in his head whispered the ugly truth, and Mickey barely stopped himself from bashing the back of his skull with the first thing that falls into his hands. 

He was at the end of the aisle when he has heard the door opening somewhere at the back and suddenly he spotted a woman moving fast into his direction. On instinct, he raised his hands and without thinking shout to her  _ to watch out! _ She walked straight through him and Mickey frozen, feeling sick. He bent in half and took deep breaths to calm himself down, when the woman – Linda – not aware of the commotion she has stirred in Mickey, turned around the corner and disappeared behind the racks with chips. 

_ Linda.  _

Mickey's body stilled, a flashback of memories attacking his mind. 

He remembered her and the towel-head, her husband.  _ Kash.  _

The realization hit him like a brick of the wall. He was in the Kash n Grab. The shop from the picture, Ian has shown him. The place he has been working in. A place that at some point Mickey has to know, too. 

He turned his attention back to the counter and another memory flashed in his mind. 

A memory of Kash behind the counter holding a gun in his shaking hands, a look of pure hate in his dark eyes. Mickey remembered something warm and sticky dripping down his leg and a searing pain in his thigh. He has fallen on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs, fear consuming his body. There have been someone's hands grabbing him under the armpits and pulling him back. A male's soft voice whispering into his ear, as his eyelids have begun to drop. The last thing he has seen is a smudged line of blood on the tiles, looking like a slime created by some gore looking snail. 

Is that how he died? 

Mickey looked down at himself and realized he wasn't wearing the same clothes he has that faithful day. And back there his self looked much younger. So maybe no, that's not how his life ended. Someone has saved him that day. 

He turned his head to the right as he sensed someone's watching him. He noticed a young, Latin woman sitting on the curbside on the other side of the shop's big window. Her big, dark eyes were staring back at him as if she could see him. Curious, Mickey began to walk into her direction. 

The woman stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving his. His breath hitched when she unceremoniously walked through the separating them glass window like it was nothing. Mickey had to admit it was a quite disturbing experience to see someone else do this. He could understand now why Ian hated it whenever he was doing it. 

And maybe he could try to be more considerable next time he thinks about pulling that shit on the ginger again. 

'You're a new one, aren't you?' The unfamiliar woman spoke to him, confirming that indeed she could see him. 'Didn't see you before.' 

'I guess so.' Mickey muttered back, his knuckles knock the side of his nose, as his eyes watched her intently. 'So are you like - ' He licked his lips nervously, not sure if he could speak aloud the word plaguing his mind since Ian has made him realize who he is, '- me?' He asked instead in a suddenly small voice and he hated himself for sounding so weak. The woman looked amused, her right hand playing with her dark curl that fell out from her ponytail. 

'I'm taking you to have to pass away recently. You look like a lost puppy.' She smiled gleefully, while Mickey glowered at her. How dared she called him a fucking pup. 

'Fuck you.' Mickey snarled back, hands clenching. The woman looked not fazed, the smile still playing on her plump lips. 

'I'm Marie.' She offered lightly, her eyes scanning him. 'So, how did you die? Illness? Drowning?' Mickey's eyes widened at her blunt questions. 

'Excuse me?' He snapped, always in a defensive mode. 

'I can't see any injuries, so I guess it wasn't a violent death.' Marie continued with a shrug, her eyes – strangely dime and hollow – still lingering on his body, making him feel uneasy. Was his eyes were the same? If so, he couldn't understand how Ian could stand to watch him all day. He's almost gagging under her dead-like scrutinizing eyes. 'So, what happened to you?' 

'Don't know.' He muttered reluctantly, his fist bumping the side of his nose. He took a step back. 

'What do you mean by you don't know?' She asked with a scrunched in confusion face, her smile finally dropping. 

'It means what I said.' He snarled as he returned her gaze. 'I don't fucking remember what happened to me.' Then he frowned as something occurred to him. 'Wait, you remember how you died?' 

'Unfortunately, yes, I do.' Marie replied with a sigh, something dark passed through her face. 'Everyone does.' She supplied, confirming his suspicions. 

'So, you know others like us?' He asked and almost laughed at how fucking ridiculous it sounds. He made them look like they were a separate race; aliens or some other shit. 

He needed to get his shit together. 

'Southside is plenty of them.' She shrugged and nodded toward the window behind her back. 'You can see old Bailey hovering outside the barbershop. He overdosed years ago.' Mickey looked above her shoulder, but he could only see the empty pavement and a street lamp, surrounded with a familiar thick blackness. 'I always thought there would be a white light waiting for me on the other side, but no, there was just darkness. We all saw only darkness, you know?' She told him in a sad voice, and Mickey understood what she meant. The black void was lurking after him in every corner, and only Ian, with his brightness, could keep him safe enough to not let it drown him in it. 

Ian was his light. 

His beacon. 

And Mickey just realized how badly he needed to get back to him. 

'Did you never meet any of us?' Marie suddenly asked, her soft gaze resting upon his face in a motherly way. 'For how long are you on your way?'

'Not sure. It's been days or weeks since I moved to Ian's place, and couldn't leave it even if I wanted.' 

'Who's Ian?' The look of confusion crossed her delicate features. 

'A guy I live with?' Mickey's not sure how to explain they're strange relationship. Besides, it's not like it's her fucking business, anyway. 'He's trying to help me to get my memory back.' He replied non-committally. 

'You mean he's alive?' Her eyes widened, a look of desperation on her face as she grabbed tightly his forearm. Mickey's wasn't sure what shocked him the most; her sudden outburst or just the fact that it's the first time someone finally touched him. He expected to feel something – a spread of warmness or coldness under Eve's palm – but he only felt a hard, dull press around his forearm, nothing more. It felt strange and so empty. So foreign. Mickey cringed and was trying to pull back from her vicious, ugly claws. He didn't want her to touch him ever again. 'Where does he live?' 

'Hey, get your hands off me! Jesus, what the fuck get you so worked up?!' He snapped and breathed in relief when Eve finally pulled back with a guilty look. 

'You've got no idea how rare it is to find someone alive that can see you.' She said in a strained voice, the look of pure desperation returned to her eyes. 'Where does he live? You have to tell me. He could help so many -' 

'Woah, Woah!' Mickey raised his hands, eyebrows skyrocketing. 'There's no fucking way I'm gonna tell you where Ian lives.' Ian was his, and he's not going to share him with anyone else. Just no. Besides, it's not like he fucking knows where exactly the ginger lives. 

'Why not?! We're in this shit together. We should support each other.' Marie argued, she stared at him with the look of disbelief written over her face. 'Don't ditch me!' She called once he brushed past her and walked out through the window. He wasn't going to stay there any longer. He needed to find his way back to Ian. He'd know what to do. 

Once he was outside, Mickey realized two things; there was no single soul in the proximity and there was a black wall surrounding the shop from all sides. It looked like Mickey was standing in the middle of the storm; an ominous whirl of dark clouds surging his way, devouring the encountered buildings. A violent blast of wind hit his left side, piles of leaves that had to fall from the unseen trees dancing over the pavement. With a rapidly beating heart he's listening up for the familiar rumble of the storm, but it never came. 

Mickey was shaking. 

'Hey, what's wrong with you?' He didn't even realize Marie followed him and was standing now side to side with him, her voice so gentle and oddly comforting. 

'I want to go home.' He sputtered before his mind could catch up, there were tears in his eyes blurring his vision. 'I want to go to Ian.' He whizzed, feeling so raw and open. There was only darkness around and no way out. He wouldn't find Ian. 'But I can't without finding the picture of him.' 

'You don't need his picture to find him.' She told him softly, a gentle smile playing on her lips. 

'No?' His voice weak and so small, he sounded like he was a kid, again. Mickey discreetly ran a hand over his eyes, before they could spill the tears. 

'What's your name? Do you remember it?' Marie moved around so they were face-to-face. 

'It's Mickey.' 

'Alright, Mickey. Now tell me, why do you think you need Ian's picture to find him?' 

'Because that's the only way I can transport around?' He asked with a snarl, his sorrow quickly turning back into anger. 'You told me about barbershop and old Bailey, but I can't fucking see them! It's only darkness, all around!' He threw hands at his sides and motioned at the black mass. 

'So, you can't see a damn thing? Just us and the shop?' Marie asked for clarification, a voice full of concern. Mickey nodded, not trusting himself to not bark at the only person that might be able to help him, right now. 'That's strange and something uncommon, but still it doesn't matter. Ian's there.' She suddenly pressed a hand to his chest. Mickey raised his eyebrow, a look of bewilderment on his face. 

'You mean in my heart? Fuck me, if it isn't this the most damn cliché thing I heard today.' He snorted ran a hand through his hair. 

'It's a metaphor, alright?' She said with an exasperated sigh and unceremoniously grabbed his hands. 'You just need to focus on your feelings. Think about Ian. His place.'

'That's all that I am doing the whole damn day!' He snapped. 

'But you don't concentrate!' Marie snapped back and squeezed tighter his hands. 'Focus on your feelings. Remember how does it feel to be around him.' 

So Mickey tried. He thought about how safe and content he feels in Ian's messy apartment, and how much he enjoys the man's companion, even if he irate him most of the time, and he's such a complete dork. 

But Mickey liked him and needed him. 

'I'll help you, okay? Close your eyes and don't freak out.' Mickey clasped his eyes tightly, his breath hitched as a memory of woman's dark, wrinkled hands cupping his cheeks flashed in his mind. A feeling of warmness and safety and love altogether surging through him like a bolting light. Mickey gasped. 'Did you feel it?'

'Is that your memory?' Mickey's eyes opened widely in amazement. 'How can you do that?' 

'There are a lot of things you still need to learn.' She replied with a gentle smile. 'I'll teach you.' 

'But I'm goi - ' She hushed him before he could argue. 

'I'll find the way, don't worry. Now, tell me, did you  _ feel  _ it? With all body?' She asked again, her eyes bored into his. 

'Yes, I can feel it.' He rasped with a slight nod. 

'Good, focus on that. Close your eyes and think it's not me but Ian. Let your body feel him. Let your memories take control of your body and mind.' She instructed and he did all she asked for. 

_ Safe. Warm. Ian. Friend.  _

And so much brightness around him. 

He felt how Marie's hands loosen her hold on his hands. A gentle press on his right shoulder. And then he felt how his feet lose their connection with the ground. 

He was floating. 

**

Someone was frantically pounding on the front door. 

Marcy jumped out of the bed and pulled on her baby blue dressing-gown, and half-asleep rushed toward the door before whoever was behind the banging will kick the door of the hinges. She tied the satin belt around her waist and with a growl unlocked the door and opened it wide to face the assaulter. 

'For God's sake, Ian, it's only six in the morning!' She growled and was ready to slam the door back into his face if she hasn't noticed in what sorrow state the man was. 

Ian's clothes were all drenched with water and his bright orange hair was a complete mess; slick bangs falling on his red-rimmed, swollen green eyes. The heavy pants coming from his mouth and the redness of his cheeks and neck indicating he has to run here. 

'He's gone.' Ian cried sounding like a wounded animal, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. Marcy opened the door widely and quickly ushered the man inside. Ian brushed past her and slumped down on the near beige couch. 

'What happened?' She asked softly once she has locked the door and sat next to him. Ian took a deep, shaky breath, his head hanging low between his arms rested atop his knees. 

'I forgot to take some photographs from the pockets of my jacket, so I went to the living room to grab them. I left Mickey in the bedroom looking through the rest of them, and when I returned he was gone.' Ian's voice broke at the last words. He used the sleeve of his blouse to wipe the fresh tears rolling down his face. 'It's been two days, now.' He sniffed. 

'Why you didn't call me?' Marcy asked, her hands gently caressing Ian's shoulders. 

'I thought he'd be back.' He replied in a small voice. 'And I hadn't thought I cared about him so much.' He admitted and sobbed hysterically. 

'You're such a dumbass.' Marcy said with no heat behind her words and pulled him into a hug. 'You always care, Ian.'

'I only wanted to help him.' 

'I know, sweetie. I know.' She said softly and kissed the top of his head as she gently rocked him in her arms. 

'And I let him down.' 

'Stop saying that. You know that's not true.' Marcy said in a firm, Fiona-like voice and pulled back from him to look him dead in the eye. 'As far as you know he could just simply move away.' She said with a stern look on her face. 

'Mickey wouldn't do that. Not without saying goodbye.' Ian said firmly, his chin jutted up and eyes narrowed dangerously. 'He's lost somewhere in the dark and I don't have a fucking clue how to get him back.'

'Maybe for once it's up to him to find his way back.' Marcy retorted back. An exasperated sigh left her mouth when Ian pulled back with a scowl on his face. She didn't think she deserves a cold shoulder from him, but at least angry Ian was better than sad Ian. 'I'll fix us a cup of tea, okay?' She offered and moved to the kitchen when the redhead nodded his head. 

Marcy returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs and handed one to her friend. 'I put extra sugar in yours.' She told him and perched at the other end of the couch, with a mug in her laps. She watched quietly Ian sipping his tea, slowly relaxing into the couch. 'You know how people say there's a light waiting for you on the other side?' Marcy asked in a whisper, once he has finished his tea. 'Maybe, he finally saw the light and just followed it? And that's a good thing, right?' Ian was staring down at the empty mug in his hands, a look of pain crossed his features. 'He's in a better place now.' 

'Yea, that's a good thing.' He finally croaked. 'I just -' He made a sound at the back of his throat, tears welled in his eyes. '- I liked to have Mickey around. I didn't feel so lonely at home when he was there.' He added in a soft voice. 

'Most people just adopt a pet.' Marcy said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

'I'm not like most people.' Ian retorted with a slight roll of his eyes. 'Just for the reckon, none of Gallaghers is.' 

'That you're right. You, Gallaghers, are not capable of making your lives easier. You always have to make everything so complicated.' Marcy chided with a gentle shook of her head. 'When was the last time you were out with someone else than me and your siblings?' She asked, arms crossed against her chest, she stared hard. 

'A couple of weeks ago I went out with colleagues from work.' Ian offered with a small shrug. 

'Just wow.' Marcy said sarcastically. 

'Shut up.' Ian said with no heat behind words. 

'You know what you need, sweetie? A date.' She said pointedly and stabbed his arm with her forefinger. 'Like with a real man.'

'Wasn't I always doing that? Dating real men, I mean.' Ian arched his eyebrow at her, an amused smirk playing on his lips. 

'Your infatuation with Mickey makes me re-think some things about you.' Marcy retorted. 

'I'm not infatuated with Mickey.' Ian blabbered, his ears turning pink. Marcy looked at him pointedly. 

'So, there was another reason you paid me a visit at six in the morning looking like a wreck of the man and dripping water on my new carpet?' Ian fumed, his jaw squaring. 'That's what I thought.' 

'It's not like that.' He finally sputtered, the pinkish tinge forming on his high-cheeks. 

'Yea, I know, he was just in your type. But let's face it, Ian. He's dead, and you can do nothing about that.' Marcy said firmly, knowing well enough Ian didn't need cuddling. He needed to hear the harsh truth. 'You need to forget about Mickey and your guilty trip. He's gone now, and you need to leave your fantasy world and move on.' 

'I can't forget about him just like that!' He argued and snapped his fingers. 

'He's not doing you any favors, Ian. You're worried and anxious all the time, and don't sleep enough. It's just a matter of time before you get the manic episode, again.' Marcy snapped at him, worried. 'You're my best friend, Ian, and I care about you.'

'It'd be always about me being bipolar, wouldn't be?' He said briskly, and Marcy barely stopped herself from strangling him with bare hands.

'I wouldn't have to say this if I know you're taking care of yourself.' She fired back. 'You stopped following the rules and forgot to take your medication.'

'Only once!' 

'Still, we both know that can be enough to trigger it.' Ian scowled, aware he's in the lost position. Marcy had a point. Fewer things triggered him in the past, but then he hasn't been taking his medication for weeks and he has been too stubborn to accept the fact he's sick and needs help. Now, he wouldn't allow it to happen again. 

'And you think the date will straighten me up?' His voice dripping with sarcasm.

'No. I just think it's a good excuse to leave the house and meet new people. I'm not saying you need to get yourself a boyfriend. Just go out, have some fun.' 

'And forget about Mickey?' The challenge was evident in his voice.

'At some point, yes.' Ian looked down at his hands. His fingers clenched tightly around the mug.

'I don't want to hook up with the guys from the Internet.' Ian muttered, defeated. 'I'm over it.' He has done it enough times back in his teenage years. The times he felt so ashamed of right now. 

'Don't worry, I already have someone on the mind.' Marcy said and twirled the strand of hair. 'Just make sure you'll be free on a Friday night.' 

'Just admit you planned it all along.' Ian accused and stared her down. 

'I didn't, I swear!' Marcy raised her hands in defense. 'I didn't even tell him about you, yet.'

'So, who is he?' Ian asked, looking half-interested. His fingers playing with the rim of the mug. 

'A colleague from work. Nice and sweet guy. You'd like him.' 

'You say so?' She rolled her eyes at him. 

'It's nice to have more than one friend, Ian.' 

'Maybe.' Ian shrugged unconvinced and leaned his head back with a long sigh when Marcy 's got the stubborn look on her face. 'If I say yes, will you go off my back?' 

'Yes.' 

'Then fine, I'll go. But I don't promise I'd go for another date.'

'That's all I'm asking for. Just one night. Trust me, you'd like him.' Ian returned her bright smile with his timid one. 

**

Mickey took a deep breath, his skin tingling. In contrary to his first trip, this time he landed on his knees, with palms spread over the familiar wooden parquet. His eyes quickly scanned his surroundings and he almost cried in relief as he realized he was back at Ian's place. He was in the living room, a familiar couch just a few steps away from his kneeling form. A vase with marble balls was still present on the coffee-table where he has left it the last time. 

He wondered idly for how long was he gone. 

Wasn't it just hours, or maybe days? In the darkness, he has lost track of time. 

He stood up and took a tentative step forward, checking if his legs would carry his weight. And they were. Everything worked as always. He laughed shortly, with relief. He was home.

His ears barely registered the sound of the door opening and the familiar slapping of the bare feet moving over the parquet. A sharp intake of breath behind his back made his skin tingle. Mickey turned around and took a shuddering breath as he's faced with the person that was constantly plaguing his mind. 

_ Ian.  _

He was standing a foot away from him with the only towel wrapped loosely around his narrow waist, his chest wet and a little red from the warm shower. Mickey's eyes involuntarily followed the dark red patch of hair disappearing behind the fluffy white towel, before he shook himself out of reverie – his cheeks hot and tingling – and looked up to Ian's face. Ian's green eyes covered with stray strands of his orange-red hair were blown wide in shock and surprise as he took in his presence.

Mickey shifted on his feet, teeth worried his low lip. Million thoughts crossing his mind as he pondered what to say. Did he should just say  _ I'm back  _ and pretend as nothing has happened? Was it  _ damn, I miss you man  _ too girly? Was even Ian missing him at all? Maybe he was glad he was gone. Because, in his place, he'd damn be. And now he's quiet because he's such adorable and considerate dork that doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, he doesn't know what to say. 

And Mickey didn't have any fucking clue how to make it easier for both of them. 

The silence stretched out between them and Mickey wondered if it wasn't a mistake to come back. Maybe he should spin around on his heel and just leave and forget about Ian. Maybe that would be the best for Ian's sake. 

But Mickey keeps staring into this soulful, smoldering green eyes and he cannot move. And he didn't want to leave. The brightness coming off from him was gradually filling him up, and he couldn't breathe. 

And then Ian spoke that one word and Mickey felt like his all world is crumbling around him. 

'Mick...' Said in that warm and comforting tone. His eyes sparkling with life and something that Mickey is too scared to name it, a bright smile adorning his face. 

Mick cast his eyes in shame as his body shook with a sob. He's so damn relieved and happy he couldn't keep himself in check. He didn't understand why he cries, but he cannot stop. It's like it's too much. 

'It's okay, I'm here for you.' And Mickey wanted to drape himself over the ginger and wrap his arms tightly around him and never let him go. Suddenly, he's craving the physical contact and he's angry because that's something he can't have. He wanted to bust something with his bare hands, eyes frantically looking for anything he could use to release his anger. 'Shh, it's okay.' Ian told him and took a step ahead, so now they were so close they were almost touching. 'It's gonna be okay, Mick. I won't leave you.' And for now, that's almost enough. 


	7. The alliances

Those damn soulful eyes were making him feel so vulnerable and open. 

Since Mickey has told him about his whereabouts and shared his revelations with Ian, the ginger was constantly on his side, watching him with that unfamiliar expression on his face. Mickey didn't know what to do with the looks he's giving, the way his lips curl into that crooked smile whenever their eyes meet. And he didn't understand the warmness and lightness spreading over his body whenever Ian's doing those things. It's foreign, and probably not healthy at all, judging by the way his heart hammered in his chest as if it wanted to escape. 

Ian needed to knock it off. 

Mickey pulled out the most unimpressed look on his face he could muster and flipped the man off. Mickey eyebrows rosed in surprise when the ginger responded least expectedly; his smile grew bigger and his eyes gleamed in an unfamiliar way. 

He pretended it didn't make his breath hitch. 

'So, -' Thank fuck Ian finally broke the uncomfortable silence and licked his chapped lips. '- looks like you're a Southsider after all, huh?' 

'Maybe it was a one-time thing.' Mickey shrugged, although he knew that couldn't be true. He remembered the shop owners by their names, and there has to be some story between him and Kash, otherwise, he wouldn't end with a bullet in his leg. The man has to hate his guts, his eyes held so much anger and hate Mickey hadn't thought it was possible for a human being to feel. He has to hurt him pretty bad back there. And the truth is he didn't even want to know what he has done to him. 

Some things should stay buried and forgotten. 

'You have to come by regularly or as I said to live nearby if you know Kash and Linda by their names.' Ian voiced what already has crossed his mind. 'Kash ditched Linda a couple of years ago.' He suddenly added in a quieter voice, his fingers began to fiddle with the blouse zipper. 

'Did he, huh? I don't think I ever liked the guy, anyway.' Mickey said and quickly regretted it when Ian's head snapped up and he looked at him with his wide, curious eyes. 

'So you do  _ remember _ something about him.' Ian concluded with a small frown. 'You weren't entirely honest with me.' Mickey wanted to kick his ass for his big mouth. Now, the ginger would never let go of it. 

The stubborn fucker already had that look on his face. 

'I was honest.' Mickey argued, his fist knocked the side of his nose. 'I just remember bits and pieces and me just kind of figured out he wasn't like the nicest guy ever.' The damn bastard has shot him in the leg and watched him bleed out. He didn't deserve any sympathy. 

'What bits?' The ginger prompted and Mickey wanted to smack him on the head. He just couldn't give up, could he? 

'He's got a gun. That's enough said there was something wrong with the guy. He was gruff and hostile toward customers.' Ian's eyebrows raised in surprise as he has finished his rant, fingers rubbing the spot above his right eyebrow. 

'You sure we're talking about the same Kash?' The ginger asked with an amused twinkle in his eyes. 'Kash would never have a gun. He was scared of them. If anyone, it was Linda who knows how to use them. And she's pretty good with that, I may add. I saw her in the action once.' He shuddered visibly as probably some sort of recollection hit him. 'Kash was gentle and friendly to customers. That's why people were taking advantage of him and trying to steal all the damn time. You didn't know him well.' He concluded. 

Mickey remembered it so clearly. It was Kash who shot him, not Linda. She wasn't even there.

'And you know him so well, don't you?' He asked with bite, didn't like the sound of ginger's implications. He wasn't lying. He knew what he has seen. The guy wasn't gentle by any means. Either, the ginger has lived in his imaginary little world or Kash has been a good actor and manipulator. Whatever was the case, Mickey didn't give a shit. That wasn't his problem. 

'I'd say that yes, I did know him pretty well.' Ian said back with jutted out chin, his eyes narrowed in anger. 

'So, you think I'm a liar, then?' Mickey stared back at him with a challenge. His hands clenched and unclenched on his laps. 

'No, I just think that maybe your memory isn't accurate. You told me once you can't tell if it's something you made up or is it a true memory.' He reminded him in that unnerving voice, that made Mickey's blood boil. In moments like this, he did wonder why he feels so attached to that freckles face. He's nothing but annoying fucker who never keeps his promises and acts as if he knows all answers in the world. 

'Fuck you, Red!' Mickey snapped and jumped out of the couch. 'You can't fucking trust me, can you?' He spat, his hands automatically sliding to the pockets of his jeans. He cursed under the breath when he pulled his hands back, empty as always. 

'I just know Kash and I – Do you even listen to what I say? What are you doing, Mickey?' Mickey tore his eyes away from his clenching hands and looked at the ginger, watching him with a look of annoyance crossing his face. 

'What?' He asked with a frown puzzled with a question. 

'You always do that when you're angry.' Ian said and when Mickey didn't make any move of recognition, his eyes darted to his jeans. 'What are you searching for?'

'Fags.' Mickey replied bluntly. He's sure his frown was matching Ian's right now. He wasn't sure where did it come from, but whenever he was feeling restless and angry, his mind is obsessively thinking about cigarettes and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his jeans at their own accord before he can register what's going on. As if they know there should be a pack of them hidden in there. He had a wild guess he used to be a heavy smoker when still alive. Maybe that was the copying mechanism that he wished he could still use. 

The afterlife sucks. 

The ginger was staring back at him with a stunned expression on his face, clearly not expecting this kind of answer, and Mickey could understand him. He was not less surprised. Maybe he could just lie and come up with something more creative. It's not like Ian would notice a difference. He's just a liar after all. 

'But you're you know -' Ian muttered and scratched the back of his neck. 

'Dead, yeah. I figured out that much.' Mickey said sarcastically and began to pace back and forth. 

'What I mean, it's surprising you still feel a need to smoke.' Ian explained in a suddenly gentle voice, his eyes and face softened. 

'I know, and it sucks man.' Mickey growled his need to light a cigarette still strong. His fingers were itching to curl around the familiar cylindric shape. 

He stopped in the mid-step not even aware when the annoying ginger has left the couch and approached him without making a sound, a small smirk playing on his lips. Mickey shivered and he felt how his eyes widened in surprise. Ian's smirk grew bigger. 

'Let's try something else.' He offered a mysterious gleam in his eye at the same time his right hand moved to the back pocket of his tight jeans. Mickey raised his eyebrows in silent question. 

Ian surprised him when he slipped off a crushed pack of cigarettes and with a nonchalant look on his face, took one of them off along with a yellow lighter. His lips curled around the filter and one hand cupped the end of cigarette as he proceeds with lightning it. 'Just wait.' Came a muffled command, as if he was sensing that Mickey was going to make a fuss at any moment. 

'Is that some kind of punishment or some other shit?' He asked hotly. He was ready to try to deliver the right hook to ginger's right eye when Ian suddenly pulled closer and without warning blew the smoke straight into his face. 

Mickey froze in the spot as the familiar smell hit his nostrils. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt how the nicotine began to fill his lungs. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thinks he moaned at some point, his head light-headed and he felt like a kid again that took his first hit. 

It felt so good. 

'I'm taking it's working.' He registered Ian's soft voice with an amused lilt to it. He thought he groaned in response. The ginger laughed shortly, a blew of warm wind caressed Mickey's lips. Or was it something else? 

Mickey opened his eyes and realized how close they were. Ian had his head tilted to the left side, watching him with half-lidded eyes and familiar yet foreign look in his eye that made him shiver. His lips are only inches away from his, slightly parted and wet with saliva. Mickey felt light-headed again, but for a completely different reason. He was sure he was blushing. He was panting through his opened mouth, his mind filling him with questions about how good Ian's lips can feel against his. If he could only lean on. 

If he could only be still alive. 

The sudden surge of coldness enveloped his body and even the warmness emanating from Ian's lips, couldn't chase it away. Mickey pulled out with a grimace. He couldn't allow himself for that. He took a step back and took a deep, albeit shaky breath, as Ian slipped the cigarette back between his lips. The ginger didn't move, his keen eyes still watching him in that unnerving manner. His lips stretched a bit in a small, private smile. 

'Thanks.' Mickey muttered with cast down eyes, his cheeks burning with fire, and fist knocking the side of his nose. 

'You're welcome.' Ian's voice came in the form of a quiet, warm murmur. 'Anytime you want, Mick.' He stayed quiet, trying to steady his breath, while Ian was finishing his cigarette. 'I'm gonna grab a shower, now. My shift starts in two hours.' With the corner of the eye, he saw how Ian casually swaggered away in the direction of the bathroom. Mickey waited till the door closed, then moved to the couch and slumped down on it. A mix of emotions that didn't make sense whirling through his head. 

He was fucked, that was all he knew for sure. 

**

Marcy was battling with her thoughts from the early morning, the various scenarios crossing her mind – each worse than the one before – reminding her there was no guarantee that everything will go as smoothly as she wanted it. Her plan could easily backfire. She's about to breach the boundaries she never should, risking her friendship with Ian and breaking his trust in the process. She felt guilty and was ready to throw up on the pavement from the level of the stress she's been feeling, yet she knew that at some point she was doing the right thing. 

She was only doing this for Ian. 

On shaking legs, she walked into the small, cozy-looking bistro on the corner of the street, and quickly spotted the familiar figure sitting at the end. Marcy took a deep breath and tried to put on a smile. Judging by the look the waitress gave her, it was an epic fail. She bet it more reminded of a grimace than a good-natured smile. Marcy's fingers wrapped tighter around the string of her purse and she finally moved swiftly to her destination. 

Now, there was the moment of truth. 

'Hey, Lip.' She greeted him with that not-so-good smile as she slid onto the opposite seat. The man was staring back at her with a questioning look on his face, both eyebrows raised. Marcy squirmed on her seat and reached out for the menu 'I see you already ordered a coffee. Is there anything good you can recommend? I'll go with something sweet.' At this point she was aware she was babbling, trying to buy more time, but Lip had none of this. As always he cut to the point. 

'Will you tell me what's wrong or do we have to pretend everything's fine and we're just hanging out as two friends, which we are not?' He asked sarcastically. 'I have only an hour. I left Freddie with Debs, and you know how she is.' 

'Yea, sorry.' Marcy mumbled and dropped the menu on the table. 

'So, once again, what's wrong? It's about Ian, isn't it?' A flash of concern ran across his face. 'He doesn't take his medications, again?'

'No, it's not like that.' She squirmed again in her seat and took a long breath. 'Look, before I say anything, I just want you to trust me, okay?' Marcy asked, some sort of deja-vu hitting her. 'Whatever I say, it's true. I saw it with my own eyes.'

'Now, we're getting me worried.' Lip pushed his coffee away, his big blue eyes trained on Marcy's face. 

'Well, do you...' She prompted and waited with bated breath for his answer. 

'Yea, yea, I trust you.' He nodded. 'You're the only person outside our family that cares about Ian, so of course, I fucking trust you. At the moment you're the closest to him.' A hint of sadness coloring his last words, a look of melancholy passing through his eyes. 

Marcy felt guilty again. She knew it was no logical, but she always felt like it was her fault, the men drifted apart. She took Lip's place at Ian's side and because she's still there, she wasn't giving him a chance to get back to his rightful place. Unintentionally, she deprived him of Ian's trust and friendship, their occasional meetings always ending in fights. How she wished she could repair it. If only both men weren't so stubborn. 

'He cares about you.' She told him in a gentle voice, feeling like that's the right thing to say. Even if they couldn't go along, Ian still cared for his brother. 

'I know.' Lip replied in a similar soft voice, a sad smile forming on his face. 'So, what did you want to tell me about, Ian? What's he got himself into again?' 

So Marcy told him everything. About the faithful night, they played with the ouija board and about its surprising consequences. She told him about Mickey and how the ghost became a permanent resident of Ian's apartment. About how Ian became attached to that strange apparition and how huge impact it has on his mentality. 

She didn't tell him about her suspicions that Ian has a crush on his unusual flatmate, but the way Lip was looking at her and cursed under his breath, it was obvious he already figured it out on his own. Who like who, but he knew well enough how easily it came to Ian to fall for someone. 

Once she finished her story, they sat in relative silence, staring at each other, not sure what to say more. Marcy was already exhausted; the weight resting on her shoulders since this morning, was finally lifted and she was relieved. 

'Do you know how insane it sounds?' Lip finally spoke up and reached to the pocket of his jacket to remove a pack of cigarettes. He took out one and reached out over the table to offer a pack to Marcy. She gladly took the offered cigarette, although it was years since she has smoked one. But she felt like that's something she needed right now, and so Lip, as he pushed a lighter across the table into her waiting hands and move a ceramic ashtray to the center. 

'I'm aware, but that's what I saw and I believe him.' Marcy said firmly and took a long drag of a cigarette. 'Mickey exists.' 

'You sure? I know it's quite easy for you to believe in supernatural phenomenons. You still believe your aunt's house is haunted.' 

'It's not like that, it's different, believe me.' Marcy quickly disagreed. 'You should see Ian right now.'

'I already saw him and it made me worry about him. Are you sure he's not going manic?' He squinted at her, a flash of doubt crossing his features. 

'Yes, I am. I know manic Ian, and he's not like that. But I'm worried, that whatever he's doing continues...' 

'He'll go manic.' Lip finished for her with a grim face. 'Well, fuck. I honestly don't know what to do.' He thumbed the remains of a cigarette into the ashtray. 'But, didn't you say he's gone, though?' 

'Ian texted me last night to tell he's back. Don't know any details, though.' She replied with a sigh and caught Lip's eyes. 'I think we should either distract Ian from Mickey or try to come up with some plan to help Ian find out who Mickey is so he can move along.' 

'So, that's the reason you set him up for a date?' Lip asked in a somehow dry voice and unimpressed face. 

'I just thought he needs to leave the apartment and spend some time with real people.' Marcy explained with a sulky expression, didn't like the way the man was looking at her. 

'I thought Mickey is real.' Lip pointed out. 

'Because he is, but he's not alive, isn't he?' Marcy said with a scowl. 'And Matthew is a nice guy and I think he's in Ian's type, so...'

'So, you went with the first plan. You want Ian to crush after someone else that's not Mickey.' He finished for her and rolled his eyes with a snort. 'Good plan, Marcy.' 

'I think that's a normal thing to do. You don't want your friend to lust after a dead person.' She snapped hotly, her cheeks burning. 

'But it doesn't solve the problem. Mickey will be still there.' Lip pointed out the flaw in her plan. 'Still messing up with Ian's head.' He pointed at his head to emphasize his point. Marcy only pressed her lips together. 'Besides, how do we even know that Ian's plan gonna work, hmm? He just took a wild guess, and you went along with it, didn't you?' 

'It's what other people say. He'd see the light, follow it and puff! He's gone to the better place.' Lip shook his head in disbelief, a small chuckle left his mouth. 

'That's what they do in the movies, but it's just a fanfiction, you know? We don't know if this works. You don't even know with what exactly we're dealing with.' He accused. 

'Would you prefer if I didn't interfere? You think Ian's capable of dealing with all of this on his own?' 

'No. But we don't know how to help him, either.' He snapped back and ran a hand through his hair. 'Jesus, what a mess! Maybe Debs was right and we envoke something powerful.' 

'He's just a ghost.' 

'You don't know that!' Lip argued again, his face turning serious. 'It can be something else. Some evil spirit, or other shit that pretends it's a ghost.' 

'That's a wild guess.'

'Just like yours.' He fired back and Marcy got quiet, because well, damn, he might have a point. It's not like Mickey himself knew what he is if what Ian was telling is true. 

A sudden loud beeping came from the direction of Lip's jacket. The man quickly pulled his phone out. 

'Shit, I have to go.' He muttered and pushed the phone back and grabbed his already cold coffee to finish it in one go. 

'Wait, Lip, we didn't decide yet what are we going to do?!' She scrambled off her chair when Lip pulled back from the table and reached out for his rucksack. 

'This has to wait for another time. I'll call you when I get some free time.' He said half-heartedly and threw a rucksack over his right shoulder. 'I need some time to think about it. ' He waved at the waitress at handed her money. 'Keep the change.' 

'And that's it?' Marcy asked with an incredulous look on her face and quickly followed the man when he dashed toward the exit. 

'Well, do you have any better plan?' He asked back and scratched his head. 'For now, I'll try to come up with a plan to coax Ian to stay over our house for a day or two. And I might talk with Frank if I find him.'

'What's Frank got to do with it?' Marcy asked surprised, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. 

'Monica.' Lip responded with a wince and looked away. 'I remember how she used to say that she can talk to the dead. I was never sure it was because of the all drugs she pumped into herself, or because she was bipolar. Maybe Frank has some ideas. If anyone knows her, it'd be him.' 

'You can't blame his illness all the time, Lip. I know what I saw.' Lip still didn't look entirely convinced, but nodded his head in silent acknowledge. 'Fine, find Frank and ask him about Monica. Maybe he has some solution to our problem.'

'I doubt, but it won't hurt to get some extra info. See you around, Marcy. I'll call you later.' Marcy raised her hand in the goodbye gesture as the man rushed down the street, his rucksack dangling from one side to another. 

She was hoping that with joined forces they'll be able to help Ian. She was putting a lot of faith in Lip, as from both of them, he was the smartest one. If anyone could come up with a good plan, it could be only him. 

**

Ian was standing in the bathtub and was in the middle of taking a shower when Mickey's muffled – a little too nervous – voice reached him. 

'Hey, freckles, you think we could that, uh, cigarette thing once again before you go to work?' Ian could easily picture him shuffling outside the bathroom door, his right knuckle knocking the side of his nose, eyes darting around. He was so adorable when he's shy. He smiled to himself and turned the water off. 

'Sure, Mick. Just give me a few minutes.' 

'Okay.' Ian poured shampoo on his hand and began to massage it into the scalp. Once he finished, he turned the water on and moved straight under the spray, humming softly. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the warm cascades of water sliding down his back when he heard a rustle. He opened his eyes back and noticed a shadow moving behind the thin shower curtain. Ian chuckled and shook his head.

'I told you to wait, Mick.' He called out amused and turned the water off. He blindly reached out for the towel and wrapped it around his waist before he pulled out the curtain back with a smirk. 'If you wanted to take peek, you -' The rest of the words transformed into a terrified scream as his eyes landed at the unfamiliar figure. He pulled back, his back plastered to the cold tiles covering the wall. 

A young-looking Latin woman with an unhealthy pale face framed by raven black locks was standing only a foot away from him. A pair of strangely hollow and devoid of brightness, round eyes were staring back at him with a strange determination, reminding Ian the eyes of dead fish. Suddenly he felt sick, his skin crawled. 

'What the fuck is going on in here?!' Mickey's sudden entrance pulled another cry out of Ian's mouth. Mickey froze on the track as his eyes landed on the woman. The blood rushed in his veins. 'What the fuck are you doing in here?! How did you find me?' He demanded, eyes blazing with fury.

'I told you it's not fair you're keeping him for yourself.' Marie replied with a raised chin, her dead eyes blazing with determination. 

'How did you find me?' Mickey repeated his question slowly – each word sounding more lethal and dangerous than the previous one – and approached the woman with a murderous look in his eyes.

'You showed me.' Marie finally replied, her lips stretching in a sly smile. 'I told you, there's a lot of things you need to learn, Mickey.' There was a look of confusion on Mickey's face, which quickly morphed into the look of recognition and then betrayal. The man gasped, hands clenched tightly and shook, eyes blazing with fury. 

'You fucking bitch, you used me!' Mickey looked like he was going to strangle her at any moment. Or at least try to do it. Ian decided to step in before things could escalate any further. 

'Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on in here?' Ian demanded as he stepped out of the bathtub and reluctantly stood between them. 'Mick?'

'That's Marie I told you about.' Mickey snapped, catching his gaze. 'The lying piece of shit.' 

'From Kash n Grab?' Ian looked over his shoulder at the woman standing behind his back. 'So, she's a ghost, too?'

'What the fuck else could she be, eh?' Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey's sudden outburst. 'This is not a hostel, lady. Get the fuck out!' 

'I'm not going anywhere before I talk with him.' She stabbed a finger at Ian's back and the man found it surprising when her finger didn't dig under his skin, but simply touched the skin. 'See, I told you there's a lot he needs to learn.' She told him once she caught his expression. 'And I can teach him.' Ian bit down on his low lip as he considered her offer. Wouldn't it be good, if Mickey could touch him like that? No more barriers, no more pinning after something he can't have. So many possibilities... 

'Don't make any bargains with that lying wench!' Mickey barked annoyed as if he could read his mind. His blue orbs staring deeply into his. 'She'd just use you.' 

'I think we all should sit down and listen up to what Marie wants to say.' Marie's lips stretched into a wide smile, the air of smugness coming off her small form. 

'What?! No, Ian, hey, you can't do this!' Mickey argued hotly, his eyes wide and desperate. The redhead leaned over the man and spoke up softly. 

'We just talk and then we'll decide what to do next. Don't you even want to consider her offer?' He couldn't understand why Mickey is so easily ready to ditch the offer without hearing the woman first. 'Just think how it'd improve your comfort of living.' 

'I'm dead. I don't give a fuck about the comfort of life I don't have anymore.' Ian blushed slightly and glanced away. 'She'll involve you in her shit and I still need you, man. You were supposed to help me.' At that Ian's head whipped back, his eyes widened in surprise at the broken look on the other man's face.

'Jesus, Mick, you're my priority. Nothing will change that.' Ian assured him quickly with the earnest look on his face. 'Is that why you don't want me to talk to Marie? You're afraid I'll push you away?' That couldn't be right. Mickey had to know how important he's to him. There's no way he couldn't know that. 

'I'm not afraid of anything.' Mickey muttered with a sulky face, eyes cast to the right, and arms crossed against his chest as he fell into a familiar guarded stance. 

'Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal him from you.' Marie said with a long sigh. 'I'm dead for over a year now, so I can wait a little bit longer.'

'So what the fuck do you want?' Mickey asked bluntly, gentleman as ever, his eyes shooting daggers. 

'To talk and for him to promise me he'd help me once we get you settled down. In return, I'll teach you how to move around more freely and maybe I might be able to help you find your identity. In contrary to your friend, we could check some places undetected.' She explained and for once Micke's face visibly softened. 'I think that's a generous offer, right?' Mickey didn't say a word, only cast his eyes down, teeth worrying his low lip as he mulled over her words. Ian took it as a good sign. 

'Let's move our little party to the living room.' Ian commanded and nodded toward the door. 'Go and wait for me. I just need to put clothes on first.' 

'I wouldn't mind the view.' Marie said coyly and batted her eyes at him. Ian blushed slightly. Mickey's eyes were gone lethal again. She laughed sharply and with a last wink marched through the door. Mickey turned on his heel and read to follow her when Ian called. 'Mick, please, just try to be civil. I don't want her to blow my apartment into pieces if she goes mad.' 

'I can't make any promises. But I'll try.' Mickey replied through the clenched teeth, with his back still turned to Ian. 

Ian decided it was enough for now.


	8. The forgotten man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I apologize for the lack of updates last month, but I'm super busy with work and I don't have time for writing. I'm afraid that this state will last until my vacation starts at the beginning of August. I'm working different shifts at the moment and have to replace five people, so yeah, I'm a bit tired. I hope everything soon returns to normal. I'll try to update another chapter this month, but I can't promise I'll keep my word. As always big thank you to everyone who read this story so far, and I hope you'd stay for more :)

Ian was seated on the coffee-table he had earlier strategically pushed a few feet away from both Marie and Mickey – he was pretending he hadn't noticed Mickey throwing daggers at him as the man realized he's expected to sit on the couch along with their uninvited guest – and in uncomfortable silence was thinking about the way how to start the conversation. After all, he was still a host. 

A good host. 

He ignored Mickey's hot burning gaze when with shaking hands he put at the make-shift – created of books and the old box he has found under the bed – table two small bowls with salty crackers and candies. Ian noticed straight away Marie was more advanced with her  _ ghostly  _ things, so who knows, maybe, in contrary to Mickey, she actually could enjoy his little treat. Or at least enjoy the effort he put in getting her to feel more welcome. He cast a glance at Mickey. He winced when the man flipped him off, his stormy blue eyes were hard and relentless. 

Marie was staring at him with a stoic face, her back straight and hands resting on her laps. Although in normal circumstances he'd tower above both of them, now prodded at the end of the coffee table with two too-long, bent in half legs almost touching his nose, he felt really small and trapped. It didn't help that Marie was watching him with dead-like eyes, and Mickey was looking down at him with a predatory gleam in his eye. The tension in the room reached the highest point and his hands began to sweat. Ian played idly with his long fingers, feverish thoughts forming in his mind. 

'You won't offer her a cup of tea, freckles?' Ian jerked up at Mickey's powerful, sarcastic voice. He locked his eyes with the dark-haired man, all his previous thoughts forgotten. 'I reckon, it's something you'd like to do.' Ian pressed his lips together, telling himself he wouldn't rise to his bait this time. Marie spared a glance at Mickey, lips stretched into a scowl. 'Or better cook one of your favorites!' Mickey kept taunting him, an eat-shitting smirk on his lips. Ian's hands clenched. He opened his mouth ready to tell him to fuck off when Marie beat him to it. 

'I want revenge.' She suddenly announced with a hard face, her voice strong and firm. Ian stared at her with the agape mouth, any retort he has prepared already forgotten. Mickey's face fall. 'That's the only thing that keeps me here.' 

'You want me to -' Ian started weakly, his head swimming. That couldn't be right. She couldn't be asking him for this. A cold shiver run over his body. 

'Find my killers, yes.' She nodded, her dead gaze returned to him, and Ian felt somehow relieved. Only seconds ago a different kind of scenario has been forming in his head. 'My family and I need justice for what they've done to me. I see the pain and hurt in their eyes. I have to listen to my little daughter's cries.' She continued, her voice wavery and teary, though her eyes stayed the same – plain and hollow, no single emotion crossing over them. 'You have to help me find peace.' 

'As fuck, he does!' Mickey snapped, his skin visibly paled and eyes widened almost comically. 'You're fucked in the head, lady! That's it!' He jumped out of the couch with raised hands. 'She has to leave. Now.' He said firmly, almost demanding, catching Ian's eyes. 'You can't accept her offer.'

'Who gives you a right to speak for him?' Marie asked with the affronted look. 

'And who gives you the right to make demands, eh?' Mickey retorted back, his gaze burning. 'He owns you nothing!' 

'You're not his keeper!'

'And you're not his conscience! In contrary to you, I actually care for him.' Ian's betraying heart fluttered at the admission, although he knew he shouldn't be looking into something that isn't there. He was so absorbed with his thoughts he didn't even acknowledge when Marie leans over. He almost shouted as her face stopped only inches apart from him. Some invisible power kept him in place so he couldn't turn his head away. He had to stare back into the black depths of her hollow eyes, a feeling of anxious taking control of his mind. 

'There has to be something you wish you could do differently this time.' She told him in a heated whisper, her gaze sucking him deeper. There was nothing else but the darkness and her voice. Ian was shaking. 'Tell me, didn't you ever wish to have a second chance to make things right?' He thought about Trevor and all kids he had disappointed. He thought about Lip and their strained friendship. About his career in the army and how he had fucked it up. But it's the memories of Debbie barely missing the hit in the head when he's been running wild around their house, which made him feel sick again. The look of fear on her and Fiona's faces. God, how much he hated himself for doing this. If Sean didn't pull him back in time, he'd... 

'I will help you.' His voice is barely a whisper, its trembling and so weak. He felt himself falling down the tunnels of her eyes. An involuntary cry left his mouth when something pulled hard and steady for his shoulder, the black depths of his personal hell diminishing in seconds. Suddenly, he's on the floor and realized Mickey was behind his back on his haunches, breathing frantically, his fingers still digging into Ian's shoulder. He looked disheveled and even paler than usual. 

'Fuck you!' He cried sounding almost like a wounded animal, his blue eyes rimmed with unshed tears and Ian is at loss. What was going on? 'You heartless, fucking bitch. Fuck you!!' He hollered so loud, Marie visibly winced and pressed deeper into the couch. 'Leave him out of this. He doesn't deserve any of this!' He pulled back from Ian and turned his head away as he wiped his face. 'If you wanna someone to do the dirty job for you, then take me.' He locked his gaze with her. 'You teach me your tricks and then I'll help you avenge you.' 

'I don't need the help of another ghost.' Marie replied with put out the face. 

'Well, too bad, because that's all you get. Me or nothing.' He said back, a look of determination in his eyes. 'I think that's a rather  _ generous _ offer.' He said tauntingly. 

'Mick, you don't have to -' 

'Shut the fuck up, Ian!' He snapped, not letting the other man finish his sentence, his eyes burning as he looked down at him. 'For once, just shut up and let me deal with this.' Ian pressed his lips together. 'If we ever need Ian's help, I'll be the one to ask him for that.' Mickey moved his eyes back to Marie. 'You don't ask him about anything. If I ever find out you've done something like that behind my back, the deal is broken. You understand me?'

'I thought it's you who needs -'

'I don't fucking need you. I'm fine the way I am right now. So, if you wanna help, you either accept my deal or just fuck off.' Marie clenched her jaw, an aura of coldness spreading off from her lithe form. 'So, what would that be?' They stared at each other for a few long moments, until Marie broke their staring match with a scowl. 

'I'll return in two days and tell you what I decide.' She finally said a frustrated growl left her mouth.

'Fine with me.' Mickey shrugged with a victorious smirk. Marie scowled in return and in seconds her features got blurred at the edges. Before any of them could say anything or take a better look, she just disappeared in thin air, no trace of her left behind. 

'Let's hope she won't return.' Mickey muttered and towered over still lying on the floor Ian. 'Come on, freckles, give me some fags.' He raked his shaking hands through his dark hair. Ian slowly pulled himself to a sitting position and wriggled a bit so he could take a hold of a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans. 

'She's kind of scary.' Ian admitted with a nervous laugh, his own hands shaking as he was trying to lit up a cigarette. 

'She's fucking lunatic. I'll kick her ass if she ever tries to do that stuff again.' Mickey grumbled with a murderous gleam in his eye and kneeled in front of Ian. 

'You don't have to do this, Mick. I can handle her.' Ian said quietly and puffed a cloud of smoke in Mickey's direction. He didn't need a knight in shining armor to protect him – he was Gallagher, after all – he knew how to handle a shit far worse than some crazy-ass ghost. Yet, he couldn't say he didn't like the way Mickey has come to his rescue, and how it made him feel butterflies in his stomach. 

'I did it for myself, not for you.' Mickey said with turned away face, and Ian got a feeling he wasn't entirely honest with him. He couldn't help a small smile forming on his lips. Mickey turned his head back and raised his eyebrows in annoyance as he noticed Ian's face. 

'What the fuck are you smiling about?' 

'Nothing.' He shrugged with an innocent smile. Mickey scoffed. 'So, what are we going to do when she comes back?' Ian asked and blew another cloud of smoke in the man's face. 

'You? Nothing. I'll deal with her. You have more important priorities on your pretty head.' 

'Like getting on time to my work.' Ian ducked his head amused when the other man's eyes shot daggers at him. He picked up his phone and swore loudly as he checked the time. 'Shit, I'm already late for my shift. Sue is gonna kill me.' He quickly scrambled to his feet.

'Hey, what about my dose of nicotine?!' Mickey shouted after him in a highly offended voice. Ian took a small break to the kitchen and brought an ashtray. 'And what the fuck I'm supposed to do with it?' He asked annoyed as Ian propped a cigarette on it. 

'Try to inhale it, I guess? I don't know. Figure something out. You're good at this.' Ian blinded him with an eat-shitting grin. And then darted toward the bedroom. Mickey flipped him off. 

**

It was already past lunchtime when they got their well-deserved break and Sue proposed they should grab some burgers. They stopped the ambulance two blocks away from the little burger joint that Sue swore makes the best burgers in the Southside. Ian knew the place – he's passing by it almost every day – but he actually has never eaten there. The local looked so dingy – Lip has told him he had seen once rats rushing from the back door – and that effectively stopped Ian from checking the place. Today, though Ian was hungry enough to give it a shot. If he gets poisoned, Sue will be to be blamed. 

'I'll go and order burgers for us.' Sue offered once they hopped off the ambulance. Ian nodded and cautiously removed a pack of cigarettes. Since his encounter with Marie, he was itching to smoke. 

'I'll join in a few minutes.' Ian told her and proceed to light up a cigarette. Sue gave him a look full of disapproval. 

'I thought you were trying to quit.' He was going to until he thoughtlessly helped Mickey to feed his craving for nicotine, and now the man was turning into demanding beast expecting he'd smoke for him whenever his cravings streak again. 

'I'm working on it.' He told her with a half-smile. 

'Sure you are.' She rolled her eyes at him. 'Alright, Gallagher, just don't take too long. I'm starving.' Ian walked toward the nearest wall and leaned his back against it. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he was basking in the warm sun enjoying his little break.

It was sometime later when he felt something pressing into his ankle. Ian opened his eyes and looked down. There was a familiar looking, white and brown, over-sized bulldog with one black ear chewing on the material of his jeans. 

'Bucky?' He called surprised. The dog raised his head, two shining black eyes staring at Ian's face, his tongue lolling. He stood there for another few seconds and then wobbled away down the street. Ian watched him go. 

Around the corner, Bucky stopped again, looked around, and then began to cross the street. Ian threw his cigarette away and quickly followed the animal, making sure it'd reach the other side of the street safely. Bucky was surprisingly fast on his little, wobbly legs and before Ian could reach him, he was already on the other side without a scratch. He continued his journey toward Mr. Hartley house and frantically crossed over the over-grown lawn until he reached the rusty looking porch. The bulldog with a little trouble beat the steps and wobbled toward his owner seated in the old armchair on the porch, the stub of his tail moving frantically from side to side. The old man, however, wasn't paying him any attention, his eyes were instead drawn to Ian lounging at the gate of his possession. He smiled widely and gestured for him to come in. 

'Ah, young Gallagher! Haven't seen you in a while, son.' The man greeted him and ushered in. 'You moved away?'

'Hello, Mr. Hartley.' Ian said back with a warm smile once he joined him on the porch. 'Nah, I'm still living in Southside. Just a couple streets away.' Ian replied and waved to the right. 'I've been busy with work, I guess.' He noticed Bucky retreated to his dirty, puffy pillow stuffed in the far corner of the porch. He looked like he was out of the breath, tired, yet still looking so happy and content to be there. 

'For you, youngsters only work matters these days.' Mr. Hartley rolled his eyes dramatically and pulled up a thick blanket over his lap. 

'What can I say? My job is quite demanding.' Ian said with a half-shrug. The man squeezed his eyes as if he was trying to see better, and let his gaze slip down Ian's uniform. 

'So, it's true what they say. You're an EMT.' The man said with a frown.

'Yep.' Ian nodded, his smile widened at the way man's face lightened up. 

'It's good to see at least one of your lot didn't waste their potential and do something useful for once.' It was Ian's time to roll his eyes. 'If your father was different, he'd be proud of you.' Mr. Hartley added in a soft voice, his expression earnest and open. 

'Maybe.' Ian mumbled back and shifted on his feet. The last thing he wanted to talk about was damn Frank. 

'Or maybe he is in his own way.' Mr. Hartley added as if he tried to lighten up the mood. 'You never know for sure with Frank.' Ian nodded in silence, hoping it was enough for the man to drop the sore topic. 'So, what are you doing here, son? You're going to Kash n Grab?'

'Kash n Grab?' Ian blinked surprised and took a look around. He didn't even realize how close he was to his old work placement. 

'Yep, it's just down the street. Don't tell me you forget where it is.' The man said amused, apparently noticing a change in his demeanor. 'You've been working there for three years, son.' He reminded him with a chuckle. 'I still remember that red mop of your hair poking from above the register.' 

'Those were good times.' Ian nodded absently. 'I heard Linda still owns the shop.' 

'Yea, but she's about to sell it. She wants to move away. It's not like she has good memories related to this place, anyway.' Ian couldn't agree more. 

'Kash.' He supplied quietly. 

'I always thought there was something wrong with him.' Mr. Hartley said with a grim expression. ' Something dangerous lurking in his eyes, I'm telling you.' He patted his temple and send him a knowing look. Ian frowned at him.

'I think you're overreacting, Mr. Hartley.' 

'You wouldn't say that if you saw him shot that kid.' Mr. Hartley dropped the bomb, and suddenly everything stilled around Ian. 'He said it was self-defense, but the kid didn't have any weapon on him. If not for Charles Barley, the kid will be dead now. Still can't believe he got so lucky they hadn't thrown his ass into jail. I'm telling you, he had to have connections.'

'When this happened?' Ian asked stunned, a frown marring his forehead. 'I don't remember any of this.' 

'You were away. Your sister, Fiona, said you joined the army.' That's why he never heard about it, and since Fiona didn't know about his short relationship with Kash, Ian figured, she hadn't thought that was something worth to mention to him. It also meant that Mickey wasn't lying. Kash shot someone. A kid.  _ Damn.  _ 'I'm not saying the kid was a saint – he's Terry's kid after all – but he didn't deserve a bullet in a thigh.' 

'So, you've been there when this happened?' Ian asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement Mr. Hartley didn't understand. 

'I was passing by when I heard a shot. Me and Charles Barley. He was on the other side of the street when this happened. He rushed to the shop and saved the boy's life.' 

'Was there anyone else? Linda?' 

'Just us, then someone called cops and paramedics.' He replied with a shrug. 'Are you into something with your questions? Why do you keep asking about who was on the scene?' 

'I thought a friend of mine could be a witness. He mentioned the shooting the other day. Said he saw it, but I didn't think that could be true.' Ian worried his low lip when Mr. Hartley's eyes narrowed and he was looking at him suspiciously. 'As I said I've never heard a thing about that incident.' 

'I didn't see anyone else out there. He had to hear about that on the street.' Ian knew that could be true, but there was that strange thought at the back of his head that made him think that maybe things looked differently than Mickey has told him. Back there, he has known Mickey wasn't honest with him and was hiding some vital information from him, and now, everything could make sense.  _ Mickey, you silly idiot. _

'Mr. Hartley, do you remember that boy's name?' 

'Terry's got a lot of boys, never could keep a track of them.' Mr. Hartley shrugged. 'Not that I ever wanted, anyway. In Southside you had to stay away from Terry and his family. He's a dangerous man. Mark my words.' 

'So, Terry as...' Ian paused pointedly. Mr. Hartley rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. 

'As Terry Milkovich, son. Don't play dumb, you had to hear about him. The whole street was shaking at the sight of him and his thugs. They used to live a couple of streets away from your house.'  Of course, as a kid, Ian has heard stories about Terry Milkovich and has been well aware to stay back from him. But he'd never guess in million years that his Mickey could be associated with such a crude and violent man. They don't even look alike. 

Maybe Mr. Hartley was wrong. 

'Could that be Mickey? The kid's name.' Ian clarified as he caught Mr. Hartley's questioning stare. 

'What's got into you today Gallagher with all these damn questions?' Mr. Hartley groused. 'Like I said I don't know Terry's kids' names...'

'Short, stocky, black hair, and blue eyes.' Ian quickly added, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He was so close to finding the truth. 'Tats on the fingers.' At that, Mr. Hartley's face lightened up with recognition. 

'Yea, that could be him. I remember the tats, but then all Terry's kids have them. Well, except his one daughter. Maggie, I think was her name. What are you smiling about?' He asked confused, when Ian smiled widely, a chuckle left his mouth.

'Nothing, Mr. Hartley. You just helped me to solve one mystery, I guess.' 

'Then I'm glad, I guess.' The man shrugged with a small smile, though his eyes were gazing at him suspiciously as if he was thinking Ian lost his mind, today. And maybe in some way, he did right now, because finally, he knows what to search for. He very likely found out Mickey's true identity. And he wasn't even sure what shocked him the most; the fact that it was Mr. Hartley who has the key to their missing puzzle, or the fact that Mickey was one of the Milkovich – a family that used to shake the whole neighborhood. How is that even possible he'd never met Mickey before? At some point, their paths had to cross. Yet, Ian didn't remember him. 

'Is Terry still around?' Ian had to ask, even though the idea of approaching Terry Milkovich wasn't so appealing. Knowing Terry's reputation he was well aware he either ends with getting some answers or, if he gets lucky enough, only with a busted lip. Good thing he was a fast runner. 

'If he was, you and the whole Southside would know that.' Mr. Hartley replied with a snort. 'He's still in jail, but I heard rumors they might release him soon.' 

'What about his kids, then?' Ian was hoping that at least one of them was still around. 

'All gone.' Mr. Hartley destroyed his hope in seconds. 'The oldest is in jail and the others just moved to different states.' Ian cursed under his breath and scratched his head. 

'Is there any word on the street about that kid Kash shot?' Ian tried again. At this point any information about Mickey was precious. 

'I really don't understand your strange fixation with that brat.' Mr. Hartley scowled, having no patience for Ian's questions. 

'I'm just curious if he's alright after that incident. You know, I was working there, I feel kind of responsible -'

'Yea, yea, sure you do.' Mr. Hartley chimed in, not a bit buying his blatant lie. 'He was alright the last time I've seen him. He got married ad got a kid and then moved out. Don't know where. And it's better for you if you stop looking for him for whatever reason you're doing this. He's not less dangerous than his father. He might be smart, but he's hot-headed. I bet he's still doing some illegal business you don't want to be involved in.' The man warned him and waggled a finger at him. 

'You don't know that. You said you barely know him.' Ian pointed out, feeling the sudden rush to protect Mickey's good name. He wasn't a bad man. He was anything like Terry. Mr. Hartley pursed his lips. 

'Alright, so maybe deep down he is not such a bad kid as everyone took him for.' The man admitted enigmatically, his eyes softened a bit. 'But Terry's his father and there's nothing good waiting for that kid. Trust me, he'll be the second Terry in a few years.' 

'There's something you're not telling me, Mr. Hartley.' Ian said softly, his keen eyes trained on the man's wrinkled face. The man winced and looked away. 'Mr. Hartley...' The old man sighed heavily. 

'Stubborn Gallagher.' He muttered under the breath. 'Yea, I knew the kid before Kash shot him. But I don't know his name. I never asked him, and he never told me.' 

'So, you had some relation with him if you two talked.' Ian kept pestering him. 'And you know he's a good man.' He pointed out. 

'Never said he's a good man.' Mr. Hartley disagreed. 

'But you said he's not that bad either. And to come to such a conclusion you had to know him better than others.' Ian said with a triumphal smirk. 

'You're worse than Frank.' Mr. Hartley groused. 'Yes, I talked with him a few times. Just a small chat nothing worthy to remember.' 

'Yet, somehow he made a good impression on you.' Ian pointed out. The man wiggled on his seat, sighing heavily. 

'Alright. It happened a few years ago, in November. It was raining heavily that day and Bucky didn't come back home for his lunch. Me and my daughter, Beryl, were looking out for him for hours, but there was no sign of him, and no one seemed to notice him that day. It was Beryl who first heard him. He was barking and it sounded like it was coming from underground. We found out Bucky got stuck under the sewer grate. I still don't know how he got there, but the damn fool was slowly drowning, and we couldn't take a hold of him. That's when that boy came out of nowhere, drenched in water, telling me he'd try to go down and save him. With no other choice, I let him, and the damn boy found a way down through the hatch and got my Bucky back. I still remember how they both were reeking. That damn smell!' The man shook his head in disbelief. 'I offered a kid a shower and a warm meal. I wanted to give him some money for rescuing my Bucky if you could only see the kid's clothes. Full of holes, oversized sweatpants, top with cut off sleeves. The true image of poverty and Terry's bad parenting skills. He didn't even give a damn about how kids look like. It was so sad to watch. But he refused my money. Said he's fine and then he was just gone. And that's all story about how I met him. I hope you're happy enough to get off my back.' He finished sarcastically.

'So, he saved Bucky.' Ian said with a soft smile. He easily could imagine Mickey doing something like that. 'Nice of him. So, did you ever talk again?' 

'Once or twice he helped me with groceries after my knee surgery. I think Beryl asked him to come over since she had to move away for a few days with her husband and she didn't want to leave me alone.'

'So, he was nice to you... Can't really imagine a total badass doing a grocery for an old man from the goodness of his heart.' Ian said airily, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

'So, yea, maybe he's not such a bad kid, after all.' Mr. Hartley agreed, his eyes unseen, staring off in the distance. 'I don't know why I've never learned his Christian name. I should, but I never did. I forgot him.' He said in a small voice. 'We all did.' 

'It doesn't seem like you forgot about him completely.' Ian offered softly. Mr. Hartley hummed non-committally. 'If it makes you feel better, I-' 

'Gallagher!' Sue's voice cut through the air like a sharp knife. Ian whipped his head around, a quiet  _ shit!  _ left his mouth as he noticed his very-pissed looking colleague standing on the other side of the street with hands placed on her hips, eyes trained on him. 

'I'm sorry, Mr. Hartley, but I have to go. I completely forgot about my colleague.' He said with a sheepish smile, his right hand massaged the back of his neck. 

'No worries, son. Off you go, just don't forget to visit me soon. I'm not getting any younger, boy.' Mr. Hartley offered him a tight-lipped smile, his gaze warm. 

'I promise I'll visit you soon, Mr. Hartley. And I'll make sure to bring some bacon for Bucky.' Ian smiled at the dog sleeping peacefully on his pillow. 'If not for him, I wouldn't be here, today. See you later, Mr. Hartley!' He called over his shoulder and ascended the wobbly stairs. 

'What did you say, boy?' Something in the way Mr. Hartley called, made Ian stop at the track and turn around. The man was staring down at him with a look of utter confusion.

'I'll visit you soon!' He shouted back, but the man only shook his head with irritation. 

'Not that! The one before!' 

'About Bucky?' He asked confused, a frown marring his forehead. 'I said it's thanks to him we met today. He was the one who led me here. I'll bring some bacon for him next time I stop by!' The look of bewilderment crossed over Mr. Hartley's face. The man leaned forward and turned his head around so he could take a look at Bucky on his pillow. 'Mr. Hartley?' Ian asked worriedly as the frown on the man's face deepened. 'Is everything alright?'

'Yea, yea, son. I'm alright.' He replied absently and turned back. He sagged deeper into his armchair. 'It's good to know he's back and safe. Haven't seen him for a while.' Mr. Hartley said quietly. 'Since my wife passed away, he walks his own paths... Maybe he's looking out for her. Who knows.' Mr. Hartley shrugged and turned his filled with sadness eyes at Ian. There was something else in his gaze that Ian couldn't put his finger on. 'Frank was right. You're just all Monica.' He suddenly said in a small voice. Ian felt a touch of coldness at the back of his neck, all hairs stood up as if he was struck with electricity. He barely could breathe. 

'Gallagher!' Sue's voice woke him up from the small trance he had fallen, and without a word, he rushed from Mr. Hartley's house. He felt the old man's spooky eyes haunting him the entire way back to Sue.

'What the hell is wrong with you, Gallagher?!' Sue called, when without stopping, Ian passed by her, pacing fast toward the burger joint. 'Ian!' His breathing returned to normal once he lost the sight of the house. 'What's going on, Ian?!' Sue grabbed his arm and forced him to turn around so she could look him in the eye. 

'Nothing. I think I just lost a track of time.' Ian replied evasively, his eyes moving frantically around, never stopping at the woman. 'Sorry.' 

'Do I have to send you back home?' She asked in a serious tone, her eyes catching his. 'Gallagher!' She snapped to catch his attention. 

'No, it's not that. I don't have an episode.' Ian said and ran a hand over his face. 'I'm just tired. I didn't get enough sleep last night.'

'You have to take better care of yourself, Ian. I'll not allow you to work when you're like this.' Sue said firmly, her gaze hard and relentless. 'You can't be distracted.' 

'I know, and I'm sorry, Sue. It won't happen ever again.' He promised and nodded toward tables. 'Let's eat, yea? I'm starving.' Sue reluctantly released his arm and followed him inside. Ian was still shaking when he slumped down on his chair and downed in one go a lemonade Sue had ordered for him. 

'You sure, you're alright?' She asked him again. 

'Yea. Don't worry.' He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

It wasn't until Ian starts chewing at his burger, the events of his meeting with Mr. Hartley playing over in his head again when he realized that in fact he recognized the strange look on Mr. Hartley's face, and that discovery has made him dash away like a mad man. 

Mr. Hartley looked frightened.


	9. A name to the picture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of updates, but at the moment my personal life is a bit of a mess, and I didn't feel like writing anything. Originally this chapter was supposed to be much longer, but I decided to split it into two parts. The second part is almost done, so if nothing bad comes up this week, I actually might be able to finish it and publish it by the end of the next week.

Ian smiled sheepishly when the woman sitting at the front desk across the room sent him another annoyed look. He knew he was making a noise; the heel of his shoe rhythmically tapping over the square tiles that someone had thought is a good idea to use to cover the whole damn corridor.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his rapidly bouncing knee trying to keep the voice down, but the level of stress he was feeling right now, was not working in his favor. He was giddy and nervous all at once. He's been on the edge the whole day – something that Sue had already picked on and he wondered idly if she's going to force him to take a few days off and calls Fiona. He'd need to get a better grip of himself. It wasn't the right time to muddle over Mr. Hartley's last words. Mickey needed him and he couldn't get distracted with his problems. He ignored him for far too long. 

The woman sent him another warning glare and Ian hoped that his old friend would arrive in the double-glass doors at any minute. Her expression told him she's close to kick him out. He offered her another weak smile and pressed his heels harder. The material of his sweatpants was already damp from his sweating hands. 

His silent prayers were heard because two minutes later the doors opened and the familiar face popped in. Ian bolted out of the chair with too much eagerness and lack of finesse, and he sent it crashing down the floor. He bit down on his low lip as the loud crash resounded around the quiet space, causing the woman at the desk almost jumped out of her skin. She glared at him annoyed. Ian looked down at his sweaty hands. 

'Ian, what a surprise.' Tony Markovich greeted him with a familiar, perfect smile, his white teeth shining in a semi-dark room. 

'Yea, hi Tony, wait, just wa-ait a minute.' Ian mumbled erratically and reached out toward the fallen chair. Tony grabbed his arm and gently pulled him back. 

'Leave it, Becky will take care of it.' Tony said and nodded at the woman – Becky – at the front desk. 'Come on, it doesn't happen often to see Gallagher pop at the station for a little chat,'  _ of one's own accord  _ a _ nd not being dragged by police officers you mean,  _ Ian supplied him in his mind and couldn't stop himself from a smile. He wondered briefly how many times they've had to dragged Frank here, 'you've got me curious.' Tony continued, an easy, lazy smirk crossed his lips, though his eyes stayed alert. Ian offered him a small smile and a nod and allowed Tony to pull him through the double-glass door. 'Thanks, Becky!' Ian cast a glance above his shoulder and saw Becky walking steadily toward the fallen chair. Her eyes were shooting daggers at him. Tony either didn't notice or decide to ignore it, because he insistently kept pulling him deeper into the corridor until they stopped in front of his office door and that's when he let go of his arm. 

Tony pushed the door open. Ian slipped inside the filled with darkness room – the only source of the light was the computer's screen perched on one of the corners of the massive desk. Ian sat down on the offered chair, while Tony flipped the desk lamp on. 

'So, what brings you here, Ian? It's been ages since the last time we've seen each other.' Tony asked lightly once he sat on the other side of the desk, his eyes roaming around Ian's form with curiosity. 

'I know, and I'm sorry I haven't stayed in touch with you...' Ian apologized profusely, because he always liked Tony, and treated him like he was a part of their dysfunctional family. 

Ian wasn't sure what was the real reason why he had dropped any contact with the man; whether it was because of his history with Fiona and the way his sister has treated Tony after their hookup or was it because of the shenanigans he had done after he has stopped taking his meds and Tony had been one of the first to clean up the mess he has created. For a long time, he hadn't thought he could ever look him in the eye again. 

'It's okay, neither did I.' Tony stopped him with a raised hand and gave him a reassuring smile. 'I'm just surprised that out of nowhere you came to see me. I guess it has to be something important.' And how right he was. 

'I need a favor.' Ian told him with a wince. 'I understand if you refuse...'

'Ian.' Tony said calmly, interrupting his another portion of rambling. 'What kind of favor?' Ian took a deep breath, his knee began bouncing again. For a second Tony's eyes darted to his leg, but – subtle as always – he said nothing. 

'Do you know Milkoviches?' Ian asked instead of answering and pressed a heel of his hand into his knee. 

'Everyone does.' Tony shrugged. 'Terry was our frequent guest here.' Another thing that he and Mickey had in common, Ian thought drily. A fucked up egoistic bastards for the fathers. 'Thankfully, he's still locked up.' Tony narrowed his eyes at him. 'Why do you ask? You don't have any problems with his kids, do you? I believe all of them already moved out.' 

'No, I don't have any problems. But maybe it's one of them that's in dire need of rescue.' Even though Ian had a feeling that it sounded a little melodramatic, it caught Tony's attention. 'Mickey Milkovich.' Tony's eyebrows raised. 

'Huh, I haven't heard that name in a long time.' Tony said surprised and leaned back in his swivel chair. 'Does it mean he's back?'

'No, not exactly.' Ian replied evasively, not quite sure how to answer that. At some point Mickey was back – at least his spiritual form was. Where's his body though was a different story. But that's something he'd rather keep for himself. 

'Then how do you know he needs rescue?' Tony asked with a frown. 'Look, Ian, if you have any information about someone being the victim of crime, you have to report...' 

'I know, and it's nothing like that!' Ian stopped his drill with a frustrated growl. 'I'm just concerned about his wellbeing...' He looked around the office, searching for aspiration. He needed to come up with a good story. Fast. 'I-I talked with his sister. Maggie. She said she hadn't heard from him for some time. She's worried something bad could happen to him.' He's surprised how steady his voice sounded, as another portion of lies left his mouth. 

'Uh-uh.' Ian risked a glance at the man. Tony had his head tilted to the side and was staring at him with an unreadable face, his fingers drumming over the surface of the desk. He was waiting for Ian to elaborate further and Ian began to sweat more profusely. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Tony was still observing him in complete silence. 

'She thinks he could be doing some errands for his father.' Ian added as his last resort and noticed with relief that Tony's demeanor changed – his face tensed, blue eyes hardened. 'Probably something went wrong. He didn't contact her for weeks.' 

'That could make sense.' Tony nodded with a grim face. 'It always worried me Mickey will take the business after Terry. He's the smartest of Terry's sons and was doing errands for him since his adolescent years.' 

'So, it means Mickey has a criminal record?' Ian asked quietly. He already knew Mickey wasn't a saint and he had a history of shoplifting from Kash's shop, but could it be more than that? It was a well-known fact Terry was involved in drug and weapons trafficking. Was Mickey taking a part in it, too? 

'Like every Milkovich.' Tony said deadpanned and then turned to his computer and began to type something. 'Do you know where he lives now?'

'Not a clue. Maggie doesn't know either. That's why I came here. I thought you have your way to find out where he might be right now.' Ian winced and looked down at his lap as he realized he was starting to blabber again. He needed to calm down. 'She's really worried.'

'I can't promise you anything, Ian. It'd be easier if his sister just reports him missing.' He felt Tony's piercing eyes, but he didn't dare to look up. 'Don't see a reason why she wouldn't do that in the first place.' 

'Let's say she's a true Milkovich like her brother.' Ian replied evasively and wiped his sweaty hands over his sweatpants. 'She doesn't want to get involved with cops.' Tony hummed non-committally and typed something again. 

'I wasn't aware you two know each other.' The man added in a careless tone, that Ian knew too well. He wasn't making a small-talk – he was trying to expose Ian's lies. Ian was aware it was dangerous to approach Tony for help. Behind his soft eyes and perfect smile hides a keen mind – something that most people were too ignorant to notice, and that was there the biggest mistake. Tony knew how to use his forte. 

'We met a few times. She used to be Lips' girlfriend.' Ian hoped Lip would never find out about this. 'She asked him for help as the first, but with him being a father now and making a career at Uni, he doesn't want to get involved with Milkovich shit.' He was sure at least  _ that _ wasn't far from the truth. 

'But you want to.' Tony fired back without taking his eyes off the computer's screen. 'You want to get involved in Milkovich shit though you don't know any of them.' Ian didn't know how to respond that, because Tony was right. Even in his ears, it sounded insane. Like something that  _ crazy  _ and _ out of meds  _ Ian would do. 'We're worried.' Ian frowned at the last words and looked up.

'We?' Ian repeated in a hollow voice. 

Tony sighed heavily and turned in his chair so he can fully face Ian. He folded his elbows on the desk and looked deeply into Ian's eyes. 'Fiona called me a few days ago.' Of course, she did.

'Is there anyone left in the Southside she didn't call yet?' He asked sarcastically, his jaw clenching in the growing annoyance. Typical Fiona. Instead, of asking straight what's going on in his life, she rather stays in the back and manipulates others to do her job. He could guess that the lack of contact with his older sister, while others keep pestering around him, doesn't bode anything good. 

'She's worried about you. She told me you're getting obsessive about someone.' Tony said in a gentle voice, that only graze Ian's nerves.

'I'm not being obsessive about anyone.' Ian snapped irately. 

'Then what about Mickey Milkovich, hm?' Ian stared him down with jutted chin. Tony sighed defeated. 'Look, Ian, I'm not going to babysit you. If I was going to do that, I'd approach you after Fiona's call.' 

'Then why you didn't do it? I bet Fiona expected you to do it. She'd be so disappointed with you. A sweet, perfect Tony didn't fulfill my dear sister's task.' Ian said with a snide, lips stretched in a full of mockery smile. The anger was taking the worst out of him. 'I wonder what she'd think about you.' Tony's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. His eyes narrowed in anger, jaw clenched. 

'I'm not yours or her damn dog, Ian. I don't feel obligated to do whatever the fuck she wants me to do, as much as I don't have to help you. You wanna lash on someone, find someone who does give a fuck.' Tony answered sharply, almost with bite, taking Ian by surprise. For a moment collected, gentle Tony was replaced with a hot-headed Southside guy that was no taking shit from anyone. Sometimes Ian almost forgot he was one of them. A Southsider – born and raised. 

Tony hang his head low and took a few deep breaths to collect himself, his fingers curled around the end of the desk as if he was trying to ground himself. A flicker of something that Ian thought could be a shame crossed Tony's face, his cheeks turning pink. For a moment the anger coursing through his system started fading away and Ian felt guilty. He shouldn't lash out on Tony. The man didn't deserve any of this. 

Ian was going to apologize, tell him he's a fucking idiot that deserves to be kicked out of his office when Tony readjusted himself on his chair. He rested his folded arms on the desk and finally looked back at Ian. His gaze was soft, apologizing, and tired all at once, and it made Ian hate himself even more. Tony shouldn't be the one apologizing to him. He's the one that hurts the ones that care about him. 

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that.' Ian said quietly, hunched on the chair like a small kid. 

'It's... fine, Ian. I shouldn't lash out on you, too.' Ian shook his head in disagreement. 

'I shouldn't bring out Fiona. I know you two had a history and you probably still have feelings for-' The flash of hurt that passed by Tony's face told him it was another wrong thing to say. 'Shit, Tony, I'm sorry. I shouldn't...' He was rambling again. 

'Let's forget about it, okay? Look, Ian, you're an adult,' Tony chimed in softly, 'and there are no premises to think you're in danger of hurting yourself or others, so there's no reason for me to step up. I don't want to lecture you, and I don't want to ask from where did business with Mickey Milkovich come from, however, I feel obligated to warn you to not get involved with Milkoviches.' Tony's voice suddenly turned serious, his stare heavy. 'Mickey is a dangerous young man, Ian. He's got a history of violence and was dealing with firearms and drugs, just like his father. In whatever shit he got himself involved, it wouldn't be anything good.'

'With a father like he has, it shouldn't surprise anyone. He didn't have a choice, but to follow his father's steps.' Ian argued immediately. 

'True. But then some of his kids get away from Terry and their old life.' Tony countered back swiftly. 'Mickey's sister did. If you talked with her, you should be aware of that.' 

'It's easier for her. She's a girl.' 

'Maybe you have a point. Maybe not. That's not something I'm going to debate about.' Tony retorted and fixed him with another hard look. 'I know you Gallaghers are stubborn as hell and you won't give up so easily, so I'll try to get some info about Mickey, so you wouldn't have to get involved in this anymore. I'll inform you if I find anything, and you just stay away from all of this.' 

'I can't just...' 

'Yes, you can, Ian. Drop it. Let me handle this. I don't want you to...' He stopped for a short moment as if he was searching for the right word. 

'Want me to go crazy, again.' Ian finished flatly in a cold voice, the familiar spike of anger evoking deep within him. 

'That's not what I wanted to say.' Tony sighed. 

'But that's what you think.' Ian snapped back with a jutted chin. 

'What I meant is I don't want you to strand your relationship with Fiona.' Tony said firmly, looking annoyed. 'She's worried about your health condition. Thinks it can decrease if you keep up with your obsession with Mickey.'

'I thought you said it's not your place to babysit me.' Ian reminded him drily, a snarl twisting his lips.

'And I still stand for that. But Fiona will do that. She wouldn't think twice before she reports you to hospital.' Ian's hands involuntarily clenched and suddenly he felt lightheaded. 

Tony was right. If Fiona thinks he's losing his shit again, she'd drag his ass to the hospital and let them lock him up. And Mickey... God, Mickey. He'll be on his own, not being able to communicate with anyone else. And what happens if Maries comes back and takes him away? Will they ever meet again? Will, he ever finds out what happened to Mickey?

'Ian, are you alright?' Tony's concerned voice woke him up from his reverie. He looked up and saw Tony leaning over the desk, his warm hand resting at the top of Ian's right shoulder. Ian realized he was panting heavily. From Tony's point of view, he probably looked like he was close to hyperventilating, thus why he sounded so concerned. He looked down at his hands and noted that his nails were digging so deeply into the skin they drew blood. 

'Shit.' Ian muttered quietly and flexed his hand around. A few droplets of blood ran down his middle finger. 'I'm okay.' He muttered. Tony offered him a handkerchief. 'But, maybe could you get me a glass of water, please?' He asked once his eyes ran across the computer's monitor. A new risky idea forming in his mind. 

'Yea, sure.' Tony nodded and swiftly raised from his swivel chair. 'I'll also bring a Band-Aid for your wound.' Ian offered him a weak smile and looked down at his hands again, while Tony exited the office. Ian listened up carefully, and once the sound of Tony's steps faded away, he quickly sprang out of the chair and rounded the desk. His eyes were drawn automatically to the picture appearing on the computer's screen. His breath hitched. 

There was no mistake. The man staring back at him from the screen was the same man that was currently residing in his apartment.  _ Mikhailo (Mickey) Milkovich.  _ Finally, he got the name. 

On impulse, he grabbed the mouse and decided to print  the document out. The small printer turned to life and with a loud buzzing sound began to print. Ian swore under the breath. The machine was way louder than he expected. As in cue, he registered faint, quick steps coming from behind the door. Ian grabbed the printed out sheets, folded them in half, and tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

It was time to go. 

He rushed toward the door, opened it, and escaped the office as quickly as he could without catching anyone's attention. Someone was moving in one of the offices, but luckily the corridors – both ahead of him and on his right – were still empty. Whoever Ian had heard before, wasn't anywhere in the sight. 

Ian quickly rushed ahead, a familiar double-glass door was already on the horizon. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. 

Ian was only a few feet away from the door, his hand reached out toward the door handle when Tony's voice reached his ears. Ian frozen on the spot. 

'You alright there, mate? Where are you going?' Ian swore under his breath and reluctantly turned around. Tony Markovich was standing on the opposite end of the corridor with a plastic white cup in one hand and notepad in another. He was frowning, his keen eyes assessing him carefully. Ian was shaking inside, various scenarios crossing his mind. 

'I...' Ian wiped the sweat from his forehead, his eyes moving frantically around the corridor. 'I just realized I'm needed somewhere else. I was supposed to meet with a friend after my shift. She's waiting for me and I can only imagine how fucking angry she has to be right now.' A nervous laugh left his mouth before Ian moved a hand over his lips in a weak attempt to mask his nervousness. Though there was a solid distance between two of them, he didn't doubt Tony notice his erratic behavior. 

'Well, I surely would be.' Tony nodded with a smile that Ian noticed didn't reach his eyes. Ian stopped breathing, as he awaited Tony's next move. 

They were staring at each other, assessing and analyzing themselves. Ian was close to give up and tell Tony to stop fucking around and just tell what's he's gonna do with him. There was no way he hadn't heard the printer and hadn't found it surprising that Ian just flew out of his office as the devil himself was chasing him down. 

But surprisingly, it was Tony who broke their staring match as the first. He put on his brand smile and turned to the right, with a hand raised in the welcoming gesture. Ian didn't even notice they're not alone anymore until two police officers joined them. They stopped chatting and looked suspiciously between both of them, as if they were sensing something was off. A cold shiver ran over the back of Ian's neck. 

Tony moved his eyes back at Ian, showing off his sharp teeth in a wide, fake smile. 'I'm sorry mate, but I couldn't find any Aid- Band for you.' 

'That's okay, Tony.' Ian replied in a shaky voice. The police officers were slowly moving behind Tony's back, their eyes were trained on Ian. 'The wound isn't too deep, anyway.' He added and casually flipped his hand into the air, so their onlookers could see the dry blood covering his fingers. 'I have some Aid-Band in my car, so...' At this point, their onlookers seemed to lost interest in them and walked away. Ian breathed in relief. 

'Yea, sure.' Tony nodded and discreetly glanced to the left to see if they were still watched. 'Well, I won't keep you any longer. Take care of yourself, Ian. I'll let you know if I find anything about that Milkovich kid.' Ian nodded his head vigorously, a wide grin plastered on his face, as he couldn't believe Tony is letting him go off the hook so easily. 

'Thanks, Tony.' He raised a hand in a goodbye gesture and began to retreat toward the double-glass door behind his back. 'For everything.' 

'Just remember that if you need to talk, I'm here for you.' Tony added, a flicker of different emotions passing through his eyes. 'Whatever it is.' 

'Yea, thanks, Tony.' Ian nodded and reached his hand out blindly toward the door handle poking him on the small back. Tony was still staring at him, in a very calculating manner that made Ian pause.

'Just one more thing before you go, Ian...' Ian's fingers slipped off the door handle and his knees almost buckle under him. 'If you're so interested in Milkoviches, I think you should know, that Terry Milkovich's daughter's name is Mandy.' Ian froze in the spot. 'And don't forget to call me later.' Ian was aware it wasn't a friendly suggestion anymore. He gulped down the lump forming in his throat and almost elbowed the door as his slick fingers fumbled with the door handle. Once he managed to open it, dealing only minimal damage to it, he rushed toward the exit, rudely ignoring Beth's calls from the front desk about not running around. Through his all journey, he could feel Tony's sharp eyes burning holes in his back. 


	10. The demons of the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for all kudos and bookmarks.

Mickey was feeling antsy since Ian had left to work. He had tried his best to get his dose of nicotine from a cigarette perched on the ashtray, but his fingers hadn't worked the way he wanted them. They either moved straight through a cigarette or worse, he was able to pick it up, only to drop it seconds later. Mickey has been sure the bloody thing was mocking him for hours until the building up rage made him shove the ashtray straight on the floor and watched it crash into pieces. He knocked the side of his nose, a small smirk played on his lips as he keeps staring at the remains of the offending object.

_ It had it coming,  _ Mickey decided with a triumphal smirk. His victory, however, was short-lived once he realised the cigarette was still lit – dangerously close to the small, forest green rug with tattered ends that for whatever reason Ian thought it'd look good under the couch. Mickey was always worried about Ian's  _ décor skills,  _ and he began to worry even more when he has brought that offending piece of shit from the basement. He remembered Ian saying something about it being a present from his sister, Deb, but Mickey wasn't entirely sure he can believe him. He hadn't had any reasons to bring it back from the basement. In fact, he should set it into the fire.

Mickey's teeth worried his low lip as he eyed the offending piece of material lying, oh, so close, to the burning cigarette. He could just try to move his foot a little bit closer and nudge the thing a little bit closer. Accidentally, of course.

But then, he doubted Ian would appreciate if he burns the whole apartment down just to get rid of the ugly rug.

In the end, Mickey decided to not do such a thing, and instead stayed hunched over the cigarette and watched it until it extinguished on its own. He spared the last glance at the rug and then moved to Ian's bedroom. Since the man has hidden somewhere the photographs of the neighbourhood – something about Ian didn't want Mickey to disappear without explanation again and coming back with a new stowaway – he decided to plop down on the windowsill and look out through the window to kill the time.

As in Kash n Grab there was a black wall of nothingness looming behind the buildings across the street. Its black arms spreading toward the grey skyline, slowly and steadily covering every inch of it. The silence was unnerving – there were no people or cars on the street. No pets lounging on the small square of the grass squeezed between two buildings – the only source of the life was an old oak growing at the corner of the square. Its long, twisted branches were almost devoid of leaves. It looked like the black wall was draining the life of it.

Mickey wondered idly if this is what's going to happen with him too. Or maybe it was already happening, but he couldn't tell a difference.

It was probably the most depressing thing Mickey has ever seen.

He pondered again if he should disappear for good.

His eyes were drawn to Ian's wardrobe and he wondered if that's where freckles hid the photographs. He could take a peek on them, and maybe, if he thinks hard enough, he'd be pulled into a different dimension. Far away from Ian's mesmerizing green eyes and a gentle smile.

It'd be better for Ian if he disappears.

But could he just run away and never look back? Could he leave Ian with no word of explanation?

And what if Marie comes back? Fuck knows how dangerous can she be. What if she tries to hurt him?

Something flipped inside Mickey. It was almost as if he...as if he...cares about him. And that's what it is, isn't it? That prodding thought at the back of his head, his constant worry about Red. He cares about him, though he barely knows him. It didn't make sense to Mickey, but that's what was happening. He couldn't leave Ian behind. And pretending otherwise was an outright damn lie.

Mickey growled in frustration and looked around the room trying to localise something to destroy. This all thinking about emotions he shouldn't and didn't have any rights, to feel made him angry. He needed to bust something.

If freckles is going to say something, he'd make sure to let him know it's only his fault this happened – he's the one that forces Mickey to think about feelings, and if only he would return on his usual time and allow him to have his smoke, Mickey wouldn't toy with such dangerous ideas to kill the time.

Maybe Mickey didn't feel the time change as others would, but he  _ did _ remember on what time Ian is supposed to return from work, and he knew how to use a damn clock hanging above Ian's desk.

Ian was running late.

And it was getting dark – something that Mickey failed to acknowledge on time – both outside and inside the apartment. The sky was already pitch-black and the arms of black nothingness already creped inside Ian's bedroom.

Mickey swore loudly, his body shook violently in fear. He wasn't aware of how long he was mulling over his sad existence, that he didn't notice it's getting so dark. He jumped out of the windowsill and slowly began to move back, his eyes trained on the darkness. There was something unnatural and threatening about the way it was sliding over the surface of furniture’s – one after one – Mickey swore he could see the long spikes forming on the ceiling just right above his head.

He wondered if the darkness finally catches him and devours him. Will he feel anything? Will he be gone for good, or doomed to wander forever in the ocean of nothingness? Is that how everyone ends?

The familiar sound of unlocking the door and the jiggling of the keys has never before made Mickey feel so happy.

Ian was back.

Mickey bolted out of the bedroom leaving the darkness behind. He leaned against the back of the couch and breathed in relief when the door finally opened and Ian walked in. The man stopped in the mid-step, his eyebrows rose in surprise as he took in Mickey's presence. Mickey blushed furiously and looked down at his feet, suddenly realising he looked like a damn dog waiting for his owner's return. Could he fall any lower?

He knocked the side of his nose and sniffed, when Ian kicked the door close, his eyes still trained on him. He switched the light on and Mickey noticed how the dark arms of nothingness scurried out of the room. His body relaxed.

'Hi.' Ian called in a soft, careful voice. His green eyes were watching him with a mix of surprise and worry.

'You're late.' Mickey blurted out with burning cheeks and eyes trained on the floor. He was so pathetic.

'Yea, I got some things to do.' Ian said apologetically and Mickey wants to hit him because he had no reasons to apologise for anything. They weren't together and Ian owned him nothing. He could do whatever damn thing he wanted. And that's what made everything so complicated in Mickey's head and heart. He's got no reasons to demand anything from Ian – he’s dead, and Ian’s alive. And yet the freckled dork always managed to make him feel special, treat him like he was still alive and was his... 

Mickey thought the afterlife would be so much easier. How damn wrong he was.

'Actually, I've got something for you.' Mickey looked up with a frown just in time to see Ian taking out the folded papers from the pocket of his sweatpants. He gingerly approached the coffee-table and smoothed the papers on its top.

Mickey shifted on his feet, teeth biting down on his low lip as he eyed the papers with growing curiosity. Freckles took a step back and folded arms against his chest as he patiently waited for Mickey to move.

But Mickey didn't move. His feet were glued to the floor. He didn't even know what Red brought for him, yet he was already feeling anxious. Subconsciously he felt that whatever is lying there, it couldn't be anything good.

'Go on, take a peek.' Ian encouraged with an amused smile and nodded at the scattered papers. 'They won't bite you.'

'What's this?' Mickey asked suspiciously and licked his lips. He swore he can taste the blood on the tip of his tongue. Did he bite his lip that hard? Could he actually bleed, anyway? He pressed the tips of his fingers into the lip. It stung and he hissed softly, but once he looked down there were no traces of blood on his fingers.

'Some of the answers you were looking for.' Ian replied enigmatically and Mickey fought with the urge to hit him square in the jaw. Freckles and his damn riddles.

He could feel the excitement thrumming through Ian's body. His green eyes were sparkling and so full of life. Whatever was scattered on the coffee-table it made Ian happy. And with a thundering heart, Mickey realised he's ready to do anything to make Ian stay like this forever. 

Like an autopilot, Mickey dragged his heavy feet toward the couch. He cautiously sat down and with a heart stuck in his throat, he leaned forward to take a peek. 

It was a picture.

A picture of none other but his younger-self staring back at the camera with eyes so intense, full of rage and hostility he's sure he made a chocked noise at the back of his throat. He's holding a plate between his tattooed fingers, covered with letters and numbers. He didn't even have to ask where the picture was taken, he already knew the answer.

'What's this?' He asked in a strained whisper. He didn't recall ever feeling so coldly like he was feeling right now. As if he was duck into the tub full of icy water. A dull pressure on his chest made it hard for him to breath.

'I thought it's obvious.' Ian said amused, so ignorant of the battle Mickey was having with his own self and leaned over to take a peek on the picture with a smug smile. 'It's you. I told you, I'd help you.' Mickey greeted his teeth together.

'How did you get this? That's not something you can find on the Internet.' Mickey tried to move the picture away, but his fingers kept sliding away. 'There're police records, aren't they?' He asked with a snap. He wasn't stupid. He knew what he's looking at.

'I asked an old friend for a favour.' Ian shrugged with no care and that ire Mickey's nerves.

'What kind of friend?' He demanded and quiet  _ damn it  _ left his mouth as he tried to get access to the rest of the documents. He looked pointedly at the ginger idiot, and something finally clicked in his head, because he sat next to Mickey and switched the papers around.

'He's a police officer.' 

'And what? You just strolled into his office, told him about me and he just handed you high-classified documents about me?' Mickey asked with raised eyebrows, his voice significantly raising. 

'They're not that high-classified.' Ian countered with a chuckle which quickly died once Mickey sent him a murderous look. 'Okay, maybe they're classified.' The brunette scoffed. 'And maybe he actually didn't give them like that...' Ian's every word was getting quieter and quieter the angrier Mickey was looking at him.

'You  _ stole  _ them?!' Mickey snapped in disbelief, his eyebrows skyrocketing to his hair, and any other day Ian would probably laugh if the situation wasn't that serious.

'I wouldn't say I stole them.' Ian tried to delude again, but Mickey didn't give him a chance.

_ 'Ian! _ ' He snapped in the most demanding voice he could muster, his eyes shooting daggers.

'I just borrowed them.' Ian supplied quietly, hunched on his seat, and staring at the brunette with his puppy, glossy eyes. 'But maybe I didn't ask Tony if I can.' He finished lamely and Mickey growled in frustration.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?!' Mickey snapped, hands running over his face. 'Jesus Christ, Ian, if this goes out...'

'Tony wouldn't say a word about this. You can trust him.' Ian assured him quickly.

'Jesus, I should know it was a bad idea to ask you for help.' Mickey muttered and shook his head in disbelief. Ian's eyes widened.

'Hey, don't say that, Mick. Nothing bad happened...' He stupidly reached out his hands to rest them on Mickey's shoulders. They went straight through Mickey's body making the latter man shiver and groan in frustration. Ian almost landed with the face on the couch if he hadn't caught himself on time. 'Sorry!' He muttered quickly and scrambled back as Mickey pushed back with an annoyed growl. 'Sorry!' 

'Just don't do this ever again!' He snapped perched on the other end of the couch. 'And stop trying to change the subject!'

'I'm not.' Ian said wide-eyed. 'I just think you're overreacting. Nothing bad happened...'

'But it damn could, or still can!' Mickey disagreed hotly. Couldn't he really understand he cared for his stupid ass? 'I don't want you to get into trouble because of me.'

'I won't.' Ian said firmly, stubborn as always, and Mickey could only scoff and shook his head at him. 'Trust me, Mick.'

'I don't know if you're losing your shit, or what...' Mickey muttered and quickly regretted his words as a flash of hurt passed by Ian's face. Sometimes he felt like he was walking on thin ice with Ian. One wrong word and it's over.

Ian's jaw clenched, his eyes hardened. The happy, energetic Ian was gone.

_ Fuck. _

'Well, fuck you, Mickey! I was only trying to help you. To keep my promise.' Ian snapped and gingerly raised from the couch. 'Sorry to bother you!' Mickey sighed tiredly, while the redhead began to pace around the flat, fingers raking through his fiery hair.

'What happened to your hand?' Mickey asked softly, a frown marring his forehead, as he realised there was dry blood covering Ian's slim fingers.

'Why the fuck would you care?' Ian spat at him. Mickey's hands curled into fists, teeth gritted so hard it hurt his gums.

'If I didn't care about your lanky ass, I wouldn't be so damn mad at you for being so careless and dumb! How the fuck could you think it was a good idea to stole my files from the police station? They have CCTV cameras everywhere!' Mickey shouted in disbelief. 'Jesus, fuck!' There it was. He said it loud. Admitted he cares about that ginger fucker.

Ian stopped pacing, his features softened. Mickey felt his cheeks were burning under Ian's intense stare. His green eyes were wide opened in surprise, mouth slightly agape.

Mickey wanted to run away. He ran hands over his over-heated cheeks and hoped Ian will stop staring at him and walk away thinking he's not worth his time.

'It was an impulse.' Ian broke the silence in a soft, eerily voice and Mickey felt him shuffle closer. He dropped his hands away from the face with a deep sigh. 'Sometimes I act before I think.' He admitted in a small voice.

'More than sometimes, freckles.' Mickey corrected him with a small smirk. Ian shrugged and gave him that all doe-eyed look that melted his heart. It would be so easier to be angry with him if he wouldn't be so damn adorable. 

Mickey shifted his eyes back toward the papers and sighed again. 'You read them?' He asked quietly, teeth worrying his lip.

'Just took a peek. I didn't have much time to read, to be honest. With me running away, fighting my way through...' Mickey cracked a small smile.

'Yea, yea, I got a picture, Red.'

'Besides, I didn't know if you want me to read them, anyway. It's your, uh, personal stuff.'

'Does it even matter now with me being dead?' Mickey asked with a shrug. 'There are no secrets anymore.' Ian remained silent.

Mickey licked his lips and with a shaking breath looked at the documents – the tangible evidence of his past life. He felt nervous and excited at the same time. Some part of him yearned to know who he was and what possibly could happen to him, while the other part was scared shitless that whatever he finds on those pages, he wouldn’t like it. 

Mickey mentally braced himself for the worst. 

He took one last deep breath and began to read. 

Ian was shuffling at his front, watching him silently, and giving him moral support he hadn’t ask for, yet somehow he has known that he needed it. And the more he dived into the papers, the more he needed Ian and his warm. 

By the time Mickey finished reading, the feeling of emptiness and disappointment made him feel so tired mentally and physically as if he had run a few miles. He didn’t exactly understand his emotions – he was expecting to learn the things about himself he wouldn’t be proud of – and yet, he felt so hollow and worthless. 

But what the fuck else could he really expect, eh? Everything made sense; his tattoos on the hands, dirty, ripped apart clothes, unruly looks, and the look of pure hate in Kash's eyes before he shot him. He was a thug, a piece of shit and nothing more. And yet being faced with the hard truth made him want to cry and wail about how fucking unfair that was. 

Deep down he was hoping he was a good person. That he has gone through some heavy shit in his life, but in the end, he got better than this. Now, this illusion was shattered and Mickey felt hollow. 

‘What’s going on in your head?’ Ian’s gentle voice startled him. He didn’t even realise that the man got closer and now was kneeling next to him so their eyes were almost on the same level. ‘Talk to me, Mick.’ He almost begged, his warm green eyes full of worry. 

‘I don’t know...’ Mickey replied in a quiet voice, afraid that if he speaks louder, he’ll crumble. ‘Don’t know what to think about all of this. I was in juvie...  _ twice _ . And there’s a damn huge list of the bad things I have done before I even hit the adulthood.’ His voice is slightly shaking and he’s on the verge of breaking up in tears. ‘I don’t know what does it make of me... I thought I was a good person, that yea, I did some stupid shit back as a kid – but overall I’ve been a good guy. And now...’ His voice broke. 

‘I know you, Mick, and I know you’re a good person.’ Ian told him earnestly, his green pools full of warmth and love that Mickey knew he didn’t deserve at all. 

'You don't know me.' Mickey snapped, his voice shaking and watery. 'I don't even know who I am.'

'You care for me. That's enough to know you're not a bad person, Mick.' Ian said softly and inched even closer. Their arms almost brushing together. Mickey felt the warmness emanating from the freckle’s body, making the coldness to scurry away. He felt save and loved. And it wasn't right. He was too broken to have it. Too bad to deserve it. 

‘It’s not enough for me.’ He told him, his hands clenched into fists. He’s not worthy of Ian’s kindness. He needed to move away from him. 

‘Don’t be so harsh on yourself. All of us did the shit we’re not proud of. I didn’t even tell you about half of the things I have done.’ He felt Ian’s gentle murmur thrumming through his all limbs, spreading the soothing warmness all over his cold form. It made his head swim. 

‘You’ve ever been to juvie, then?’ Mickey asked with a snort, a voice dripping with sarcasm he couldn’t contain.

‘No, but I served my sentence in prison.’ Mickey's head snapped back to him, eyes grew wide in surprise. Ian chuckled at the look of bewilderment on his face, a faint blush covering his high-cheeks. ‘Told you, you don’t know everything about me. I’m not such a good person, I think you believe I am.’ He averted his eyes in shame. 

‘I bet you’re still a damn saint in comparison to me.’ Mickey murmured softly, the urge to pull Ian into embrace stronger than ever. ‘If anyone it should be me feeling ashamed of my deeds.’ The redhead raised his head, a look of sadness and worry flashing through his eyes. 

‘You were raised by Terry, I don’t think you ever had a choice to do things a different way.’ Ian told him, his hand hovering above Mickey’s left one rested on his thigh. ‘You were doing everything you could to survive another day. Your brothers and sister, you all have to do everything Terry commanded.’ 

‘How do you know this? Did you know my father, then?’ He asked with a frown, surprised with the sudden exclamation. Nothing of this come up in the papers Ian had stolen for him. ‘You said you don’t know me.’ He said accusingly. 

‘And I wasn’t lying. I don’t know you, but I know your father. Whole Southside knows.’ He said with a wince. ‘He’s never been a good guy. Everyone heard the stories about how he treated his kids, how dangerous he can be if you cross him... Tony told me all of your siblings have a long list of criminal records.’

‘It should make me feel better?’ He asked sarcastically, his gut twisting. ‘So, I was raised in a family full of criminals. And I have a bunch of siblings that apparently don’t give a shit about me since they’re not looking up for me.’ 

‘You moved to a different state. Maybe they’re not even aware you’re missing.’ Ian suggested. 

‘You mean I don’t live here, anymore?’ He asked with an arched eyebrow. Each news confusing him even more. 

‘No. Once you got married and got a kid, you moved out. Don’t know where to, though.’ Somewhere out there he had a wife and a kid. 

_ Holly fuck _ . 

‘Then what the fuck I’m doing back here?’ Ian shrugged, for once not having an answer for him. ‘You sure I have a wife?’ 

‘Yea, that’s what people say. Why?’ He frowned, surprised with the question. 

‘No reasons.’ Mickey shrugged and quickly looked away. 

‘Okay.’ Nope, nothing was okay. Everything was so wrong on many levels, Mickey didn’t even know from what to start. 'Are you afraid that now I know about your past, I'll think less about you?' Ian suddenly asked him in a small voice, his green puppy eyes looking at him expectantly. 

‘Yea, that’s something I expect to hear.’ Mickey nodded slowly.

‘But I don’t.’ He told him in a soft whisper, his green eyes boring into his, taking his breath away. How the hell could he have a wife, if he felt so attracted to him? And speaking of wives... 

‘It doesn't surprise you that my wife is not looking out for me?' Mickey snapped. 'Maybe I was beating the shit out of her.' He couldn’t put it past himself. In the end, he was a violent freak. But Ian only flashed him a smile and shook his head.

‘Or maybe she's looking out for you, but we don't know about it?' Ian suggested with a raised eyebrow. 'You moved to a different state. Maybe even run away from your father. So why would she even searched for you, in here?’ Mickey had to agree he made a point. ‘I asked Tony to find her. Maybe she has any clue what could happen to you.’

‘You think I may be gone if they find my body? Like in those old movies, I mean.’ Mickey licked his lips nervously. 

‘I honestly don’t know.’ Ian said and Mickey wasn’t sure but he thinks he detected a touch of sadness filling his words. Before he could investigate it further, Ian’s phone biped loudly informing about the upcoming message. The ginger took off his phone from the pocket of his jacket and looked at the screen. He’s face fall. Hard. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Mickey asked worriedly. 

‘It’s nothing. Just Marcy reminding me about a dinner with her and our colleagues this Friday. I forgot about it.’ Mickey felt like Ian wasn’t telling him something, the way his gaze was flickering around, never stopping at his face. ‘I’m trying to come up with a good excuse to ditch it.’ 

‘Why would you do that?’ He asked surprised. ‘You should go, have some fun.’ Mickey insisted. ‘You can’t spend all your free time with me.’ Though he wouldn’t mind it one bit. ‘It’ll do good for your...’ He poked the side of his head with a finger. Ian shot him a look that made him blush furiously and look down at the floor. His hand dropped back on his thigh. ‘...It will help you stay stable, I think.’ He added lamely – a piece of offering that actually had to work because Ian’s face visibly softened. 

‘I don’t know if it’s a good idea. Lip asked me to spent a weekend at my old house. Apparently, my youngest siblings are missing me badly.’

‘So you’d do that.’ Mickey said simply, not seeing any problem. ‘I’ll take upon Marie’s offer and spend the weekend with her. Fuck knows, maybe I’d get some of my memory back.’ The last thing he wanted is to make any deals with that lying wench, but now, knowing about his dangerous past, he didn’t want Ian to get involved in his shit anymore. And with Ian being away for three days, he wouldn’t be risking he’d like to join them. 

‘You would?’ Ian asked in a voice filled with hope, a surprise etched into his face. 

‘Yea, man. I think it might be fun to learn some new things. I’ll be more independent. And maybe I wouldn’t freak out every damn time you’ll turn into total pussy and try to touch me.’ 

‘That would be great, Mick.’ Ian said with a soft smile, his eyes shining with something that Mickey finds hard to name. ‘Maybe you’d like me to stay and see the progress...’ He suddenly offered with, his body thrumming with newfound energy. 

‘No! There’s no need for that.’ Mickey’s sudden sharp snap made Ian pull back with an astonished look on his face. ‘I mean, I want to surprise you.’ He quickly added and bite hard on his lip. ‘And I don’t want you to be disappointed if I turn out to be a shitty pupil.’ 

‘You’ll be fine, Mick.’ Ian said firmly, his face broke into a familiar grin. ‘But okay, we’ll do it your way. Just make sure you wouldn’t disappear again without saying goodbye, okay? And I promise I’ll go out this Friday.’ 

‘Deal.’ Mickey nodded, although in his current situation it was hard to keep any promises. Who knows why he’s still there. But tonight he didn’t want to burst Ian’s happy bubble he had locked himself in and instead tells him whatever the other man wanted to hear. Ian flashed him his brand blinding smile and scrambled to his feet, unintentionally taking away with himself the all warm his body was emanating. Mickey shivered and wrapped arms around his middle. 

‘I’m gonna hit a shower and then I fix something to eat. You’re free to join me if you want to start your practices, tonight.’ Mickey jerked his head up in shock, his mouth opened involuntarily in surprise as his mind process Ian’s offer. ‘Oh!’ Ian suddenly gasped, his cheeks turning bright red. ‘I meant food, not the shower!’ Mickey breathed with relief, not quite sure if he could handle the view of Ian’s naked, wet body tonight. ‘You can taste the nicotine, so I thought we could try with the food, again.’ He added sheepishly and ran a hand over his hair.

‘I think I’ll pass tonight. Let’s wait till Marie returns and to be honest I’m not feeling hungry, anyway.’ Mickey said with casted away eyes, feeling that at this point his cheeks were probably matching Ian’s. 

‘Right. I’ll be back soon.’ Ian muttered and darted away from the room before he could make an even bigger fool of himself. Mickey cursed under breath and let his head hit the back of the couch. He’ll be the death of him. 

**

Tony Markovich found Alice Steward at the back of their precinct, sitting on the steps of the stairs leading to the emergency exit. She couldn’t see him yet, but she definitely heard him judging by the way she quickly hid her cigarette behind her back and pulled out a half-eaten sandwich on her laps. She was well aware they were not allowed to smoke in the building. 

‘It’s only me.’ He called with a grin as he came closer and leaned against the railings. Alice visibly relaxed and moved her hand back so she could press the cigarette between her lips. 

‘You could say it before you scared me shitless. I thought it was captain.’ She sulked a bit and shot him an annoyed glare. 

‘Are you still dealing with sex trafficking?’ Tony asked, moving straight to the business, and handed her a folder he brought with himself. Alice licked the remains of mayonnaise off her fingers and ungraciously opened the folder on her laps. ‘You know her?’ 

‘Hasn't seen her in a while.’ Alice said and tapped the picture. ‘That’s Svetlana. What do you want from her? Is she in trouble?’ She looked at him worried. 

‘It’s too early to say.’ Tony said with a shrug. ‘I need to talk to her first, to be sure. Do you have any idea where she lives now?’

‘I’ve got some idea, but can’t be sure. Since she got married and left Chicago she keeps her profile low. But I can ask around. We’re keeping a radar on her, anyway. With her criminal record, she might return to her old practices in no time.’ She said with a grim expression. ‘Is that why you’re here?’ 

‘I’m more interested in her husband.’ Tony said and Alice hummed in acknowledge. 

‘Young Milkovich, huh? What a pair.’ She shook her head. ‘What has he done this time?’ 

‘He’s missing. I was hoping his wife would know something.’ 

‘Shit.’ She muttered. ‘You think she’s involved?’ 

‘You know statistics as good as I.’ Tony replied with a deep sigh. ‘It’s the only trail I have. I doubt Terry would say anything to me. I can’t be even sure if he’s not involved in his disappearance. I wouldn’t put it past him.’ Tony was well aware of how Terry had treated his kids, and he always regretted he hadn’t been able to do more for them. He remembered vividly the bruises and deep gashes on Mickey’s body, the way he squirmed under his father’s hard stare. A look of pure fear in his eyes was haunting him to this day. He has been doing whatever he could to keep Terry away from his family for as long it was possible, but it never lasted long enough. For Terry, they’ve been only his tools, nothing more. He doubted the man was capable of loving anyone.

His superiors have deemed them a lost cause, and shamefully, Tony has begun to think they’re right. So he has stopped coming around, watching Terry’s every step to catch him red-handed so he could throw him back into jail again. He has pretended he hadn’t seen bruises on Mickey’s body, and the look of despair on Mandy’s face as she wandered aimlessly around the streets. 

When they left, they took his burden of guilt with themselves and Tony has been sure he’d find a sense of peace. 

And how wrong he has been. 

One visit from Ian Gallagher was enough to bring his old demons back. 

This time, however, he'd make sure to lead the case to the very end. He owned it to Mickey. 

‘Well, let’s hope he’s just holed up somewhere.’ Alice said quietly and closed the folder. ‘I’ll ask around and let you know her home address.’ 

‘Thanks, Alice.’ Tony flashed her a small smile. 

‘Don’t thank me, yet. We barely bring any good news, these days.’ Tony nodded in agreement and slowly pulled back. 

‘Let’s hope this time it’d be different.’ He added and moved toward the exit allowing Alice to finish her cigarette. 


End file.
